

\ 


I 




# 


i(}.X 


• /' 






y* * I 




-• t- 




1. -’.A' 




.* •■ ► 


p . 


r 


hi 






■-'i tV;k./f'i ’ . 
«♦ 




f.i > 






w 


:.V< 


vV- 






,.*V. 


’ ''ll 


T. ' — 


m 


i', ■' ».' 


s' 






n 


V ,»Vr '»..• -I ' ^ 

'i-' * 


? Uh 


■■ 


'•V 


f/? 


f...' - 1 ^ , 

- \ 






«•»< 


’ I 


r'vi’’X-^ -I 

. i, 


L' 'V 




t f 




*HW 




f 


'i 


i. •' 




ri»\ 


.4*'^ • 






< t 


S^' ' ■ ' 


1 <.-“ 




% 




• •* 


r; 


.<1 


; ’ Jjw I 






I* ^'‘i' 




(i 


t • , 


\ i » i* 




IV'i 




• ■ , >/l 


w *-i 


r 4 






tJ-. li 






« I 






■fti 






./ !• 




.% A 


’K 






I .* 




LtfiV 


A'./ 




Vi 




>v 


' n 






Mti 


'n 


'* 


r • 


l‘ 


:| vWrli‘ ^ a;*(c 




» t, 




r *■ 


< ■ <\ • 


ri 




fo 


»/» 








4 I'fl 




1 I 


■V .\ 


; 4 -ifv 




I ' 


■l\'- 


) I>- 


.^v 


•-r 




Viw"' 






'v 




tf *4 






t. 




r 'V^r * 


'-' V* 
f ' * i 


f ^ 




r’t 




/•- 


■ ‘ • » 'l I ^'J>', 'o 


p \ ' V ^/w ' '»'»#• 4 - 

c 44^'' ■ / Vli^ c^^'lfiAU 


I 

#;• 




%< 


|S 


t'f- 


/ •) -4 


V', ’. V 

• v-. 

S p i jl 


» ' , 1 > 


k‘t r 
P < 7 '-^ 

t 'cC . 






. I > ^ ' 


* fc. 


• . . • % 


V 


rif <, 


»'ti 




:Xi 


i^*: 


•4 * 


'V: 






• I , 


l-»v-- 


* ' i 1 ‘ i 








Clara louise ^urnjam 


CLEVER BETSY. Illustrated. lamo, $1.25, net. 
Postage extra. 

FLUTTERFLY Illustrated. Square lamo, 75 cents. 

THE LEAVEN OF LOVE* With frontispiece in color. 
x2mo, $1.50. 

THE QUEST FLOWER. Illustrated. Square x2nK», 
$ 1 . 00 . 

TWE OPENED SHUTTERS. With frontispiece in 
color. 12010, ^1.50. 

JEWEL; A ChAPTER IN HER LIFE. Illustrated. 
12010, $1.50. 

JEWEL’S STORY BOOK. Illustrated. i2mo, $1.50. 

THE RIGHT PRINCESS. 12010, 1^1.50. 

MISS PRITCHARD’S WEDDING TRIP. 12010, $1.50. 

YOUNG MAIDS AND OLD. i6mo, $1.25; paper, 50 
cents. 

DEARLY BOUGHT. 16010,51.25; paper, 50 cents. 

NO GENTLEMEN. 16010, $1. paper, 50 cents. 

A SANE LUNATIC. 16010,51.23; paper, 50 cents. 

NEXT DOOR. 16010,51.25; paper, 50 cents. 

THE MISTRESS OF BEECH KNOLL. i6mo, 51.25 ; 
paper, 50 cents. 

Mr^ JAGG’S SECRETARY. i6mo, 5 i. 2 S; paper, 
50 Cents. 

DR. LATIMER. i6nio, 5i-25; paper, 50 cents. 

SWEET CLOVER. A Romance of the White City. 
i6mo, 5 i- 25; paper, 50 cents. 

THE'WISE WOMAN. i6mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents. 

MISS ARCHER ARCHER. i6mo, $1.25. 

A^Gf^EAT LOVE. A Novel. i 6 mo, 51*25; paper, 
50 cents. 

A WEST POINT WOOING, and Other Stories. i6mo, 
51*25. 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
Boston and New York 



“NO GENTLEMEN” 


BY 

CLARA LOUISE ^URNHAM 

AUTHOR OF “ YOUNG MAIDS AND OLD,” “ NEXT DOOR,” “ DEARLY BOUGHT 
‘‘ A SANE LUNATIC ” 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
CambriDoe 




COPTBIOHT, 

HENBT A. SUMNER & CO, 

1881 . 



A^p- 

/ 


/7 







V'.'VV 


■’f) 

•Vs! 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER I. 

Caught in the Rain, 

PAGE. 

• - 9 

CHAPTER II. 

The Lunch Party, 

. . 22 

CHAPTER HI. 

An Ungracious Iesponse, 

. 41 

CHAPTER IV. 

Hopeful Bounce, ... 

62 

CHAPTER V. 

Red Farm, - - - - . 

- - 74 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Other Applicant, 

• « 81 

CHAPTER VII. 

An Unexpected Rencontre, 

- 98 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Tyrant Fashion, 

. 129 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Charitable Errand, - . . 

• . 147 


s 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER X. 

The Picnic, - - - - 

PAGE. 

. . 161 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Accident, - - . 

. 191 

CHAPTER XII. 

Dr. Dart, - . - - . 

.213 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Ruth’s Discovery, - 

- - 237 

CHAPTER XIV. 

In Barbara’s Room,' - 

- 250 

CHAPTER XV. 

The General, . - . . 

• - 269 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Strategic Measures, - - - 

. 283 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Suspense, . . - - , 

298 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Crisis, - - - - 

- 314 


CHAPTER XIX. 

In Tortoise-shell, . . , . 330 


“NO GENTLEMEN” 


CHAPTEK I. 

CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. 

Thanks, untraced to lips unknown, 

Shall greet me. — S now-Bound. 

Jean Ivory was caught in the rain. Fortunately, 
she appointed a rendezvous with her step-mother 
when she parted with her half an hour before, 
under as charming a blue sky as ever smiled down 
upon the city of Boston. 

“ Call for me with the carriage at D ’s drug 

store,” she had said; so to D ’s she hurried now 

when the sudden rain fell, gathering her handsome 
dress regretfully about her, jealous of the myriad 
drops that were defacing its freshness. 

So bent was she upon obtaining shelter, it was 
little wonder that she failed to notice a gentleman 
standing within the store, with his back to the 

door ; and little wonder that she flung the door 
0 


10 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

open with an energy which drove its handle into 
the young man’s back, and more natural still, that 
the latter, caring nothing for Miss Ivory’s claret- 
colored brocade, should turn upon the new comer 
with exceeding displeasure. 

“Pardon me,” she said, scarcely looking at her 
victim, whose expression of disapproval changed 
to one of curiosity as he recognized her, and then 
sauntered to the back of the store. 

Only yesterday she had been pointed out to him 
as a young lady who was destined to be the fashion 
in society the coming Winter — a young lady whose 
great-aunt had left her, with her Scotch name, a 
handsome fortune to be hers to do as she pleased 
with. This was the extent of his informer’s 
knowledge ; but it might have been added honestly 
that Jean pleased to do good with her money. 
Indeed, her earnestness as a philanthropist had 
already proved a sore vexation of spirit to her 
step-mother — a thoroughly worldly woman, who 
cared first for society, and next for her husband’s 
handsome brunette daughter. As to the heiress’s 
doting father, when his wife came to him with 
some new story of the girl’s imprudence, he only 
said : 


CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. 


11 


“ These are Jean’s wild oats. Let her sow them. 
She will learn wisdom by experience.” 

So, while Jean was learning wisdom, many a 
poor, suffering mother blessed her, many an im- 
postor drank her health in a better grade of 
whisky than he was accustomed to, and many a 
charity drew its supplies largely from her purse. 

Miss Ivory, unconscious of scrutiny, proceeded 
to take off the flimsy, wet veil which clung dis- 
agreeably about her face, and hang it over a coun- 
ter to dry. Then she opened the little bag of claret 
velvet and silver which hung by her side, and took 
therefrom a handkerchief with which she wiped 
her face as she looked into the show-case at the 
cosmetics and glittering toilet articles. 

“I wonder if she is thinking of the day when 
she will make a nearer acquaintance with those ar- 
ticles ? ” thought the young man, who appeared to 
be rain-bound also, and who was, with the exception 
of the proprietor and herself, the only occupant of 
the store. ‘‘Evidently, it has not come yet, or she 
w^ould never dare to rub her face in that fashion. 
What a privilege it is to inspect the coming belle 
before her freshness is worn off by a score of gcr- 
mans. Judging by the vigor of her strong right 


12 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

arm, as experienced by me, she will be able to en- 
dure considerable dissipation.” 

“ Yes, Mr. D , I begin to think I am deserb 

ed,” came the clear voice of the young lady, and 
as she turned to give a smiling answer to the pro- 
prietor of the handsome store, the cool critic in his 
distant position, was surprised into momentary ad- 
miration of the frank face and bright eyes. 

“ She will light up well at night,” he was forced 
to admit ; but he liked a lady’s movements to be 
quiet and dignified under all circumstances, and 
every motion this girl made was sweeping and dar- 
ing. Had she been a man, she could not have 
bolted in out of the rain more suddenly, or given 
him a severer blow in the small of his back ; and, 
let who would compose her court in her coming 
season of triumph, he should certainly never swell 
the number. 

Meanwhile, the future debutante was becoming 
very tired of the situation. 

“What can mamma be thinking of?” she re- 
flected, moving to the window and looking out on 
the gray sky. “ If the wind and rain were half as 
weary as I, they would cease and set me free ; but 
I suppose I must possess my soul in patience ; ” and 


CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. 


13 


with a sigh, Jean seated herself on a plush-covered 
stool and swung idly from side to side, her eyes 
fixed absently on the red and green jars in the 
window. While she sat thus, voices in the back 
of the store attracted her attention. 

“ It’s all very well to speak of yours as a special 

case,” she heard Mr. D say ; ‘‘ but if I listened 

to every ‘ special case ’ that comes here every day, I 
should be ruined. I can’t help them all.” 

“No one wishes you to help them all,” was the 
strange gentleman’s reply ; and the contrast of his 
refined voice, after the proprietor’s nasal, com- 
plaining tones, struck Jean pleasantly. 

“ Out of so many applicants, one can only choose 
those who come well-vouched for. It is a hard 

case, you must admit, Mr. D , to come down 

flat from riches to absolute penury ! You have 
said that there is a vacancy here, and I have relied 
upon you.” 

If the carping critic could have seen the face of 
the girl, seated so quietly in the front of the store, 
he would have been obliged to admit that she lit up 
well by day as well as by night. Her dark eyes 
were shining, and her cheeks aglow. Jean’s phi- 
. anthropic soul was in arms and eager for the fray. 


14 


“no gentlemen.” 

“And I nearly knocked him down when I came 
in,” she thought, remorsefully. “Oh, how painful 
it must be to him, to be going about among people 
who are his inferiors, seeking some humble situa- 
tion.” 

“Think of the mother and sisters, Mr. D ,” 

Jean heard him go on, “and an absolutely helpless 
paralytic father.” 

“Mercy!” ejaculated the sympathetic listener, 
under her breath. “Why, it’s a case of absolute 
necessity.” She fairly longed to go back and take 
part in the conversation, and even went so far as to 
turn about on her stool, but one look at the appli- 
cant caused her courage to ooze out. “How can 
he look so handsome and well-dressed when he is 
in such extremity ? ” she wondered, turning back. 
“Yet, if the blow is sudden, of course he has not 
had time to grow shabby yet.” Then she strained 
her ears to hear the response of the proprietor. 

“ It isn’t convenient ; that’s all there is about it. 
I have not made up my mind yet that I need sup- 
ply the vacancy. The pay is very small, too.” 

“Never mind that,” said the other, earnestly. 
“Half a loaf is better than no bread. Do not de* 
cide yet. I will come back this evening.” 


CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. 


15 


You’d much better save yourself the trouble,” 
was the ungracious rejoinder. 

“I do not mind the trouble,” said the young 
man persistently, and with this he passed down the 
store, and, pausing a moment at the door, looked 
once more at Jean, then went out into the rain. 

‘‘She is a handsome girl,” he reflected in sur- 
prise. “If she looks at every one as she did at 
me then, they’ll all go down before her. She act- 
ually looked as if she wanted to speak to me ; and 
I’m very sure I should like to have her.” 

Meanwhile, Jean’s thoughts flew like wildfire. 
Here was a case, delicate to be sure, but one which 
demanded her attention. 

That hard-hearted wretch of a druggist ! How 

she despised him ! Mr. D , advancing toward 

her, smiling and bowing, found himself treated to 
a haughty flash of the black eyes, and a freezing 
dignity of manner which astonished him. 

“ No ; I will not trouble you,” she replied to his 
ofier to procure a carriage. “Neither will I stay 
another minute in your heartless, disobliging pres- 
ence,” she added mentally, and gathering up her 
long train and taking her umbrella, she sallied 
forth, careless now of the rain, only in haste to get 


16 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

home and carry out the idea which had taken pos- 
session of her. She would help that fair, hand- 
some unfortunate, with the golden moustache and 
close-out hair, in spite of himself. As she entered 
a horse-car, and all the way home, she was quite 
oblivious of the commiserating glances bestowed 
upon her rich garments ; oblivious of the fact that 
a muddy heel was pressed upon her silken train ; 
only thinking of the joy of assisting these people, 
who had lost their all. 

Upon arriving at home, the first person she 
met was her mother, coming down the stairs, in all 
the comfort of dry clothing. 

“Jean, you didn’t come home in all this 
storm ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Ivory, somewhat guiltily; 
but she need not have feared receiving any blame 
from her excited daughter. 

“What did you expect me to do, mother; 

spend the night at D ’s?” asked the girl. 

“I must say I think you have exhibited a beauti- 
ful trust that I should get home somehow ; but I 
forgive you.” 

“You see we managed to get here just as the 
first drops fell, and I told Sam to wait until it 
stopped raining before going for you. I thought 


CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. 


17 


it such a pity to take the horses out in such a 
drenching storm.” 

“ So it was I that was drenched instead. I thinh 
perhaps the horses would have come out bettei 
from the wetting, than my brocade.” 

“I should think so,” replied Mrs. Ivory, in a 
complaining tone ; for, now that she found Jean 
had no intention of taking her seriously to task for 
neglect, she turned her attention to the damage done. 

“You might have had more patience, and waited 
a little,” she said. “ Your dress is entirely ruined, 
and it is the first time you have worn it ! ” 

“Quite right in both particulars, lady mother, 
and all your fault. You must be more careful of 
me, and less careful of the horses, another time. 
Let me come up stairs, please. ” 

“I will come with you,” following Jean up the 
stairs. “I want to tell you something I heard to- 
day about Mrs. Darrell.” 

“Not just now. I have something particular to 
attend to.” 

“I knew you had some new crazy scheme, the 
instant I saw you,” volunteered the lady, in a 
vexed tone. “You never look so beaming, except 
when you are planning to throw away a lot of 
B 1* 


18 


GENTLEMEN.” 

money. What an imprudent man your father is, 
to leave you in such unwise freedom.” 

“ My father has little enough to do Avith it,” re^ 
plies Jean, gayly. “My aunt took good care of 
that. Her prophetic soul told her what a level- 
headed, long headed, clear-headed Avoman of busi 
ness her namesake Avas going to turn out.” 

“You’d much better confide in me, Jean ! do, 
this time, like a good girl.” 

But Jean had hurried into her room and shut the 
door. Confide her precious plan, and have it criti- 
cized from all stand-points in a cool, calculating 
way ? Never ! Perhaps she felt that its feasibility 
and wisdom would not stand a severe test ; but she 
was none the less possessed with the idea that it 
was a good thing to play Lady Bountiful in this 
delightful, secret manner, to the good-looking 
stranger, who should never suspect whose hand 
it was that had extended help in the hour of need. 

“Half past two, I declare,” thought the young 
woman, glancing at the tiny Swiss clock against 
the wall, “ and I’m hungry ; but business first, and 
pleasure afterAvard.” Then slipping off her wet 
garments and donning a Avhite flannel Avrapper, she 
sat down at her desk. 


CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. 


19 


“It won’t do to write a note,” muses the girl, 
“ and yet, it would seem so like giving alms, mere- 
ly to enclose money, without a word. I wish I 
knew the right amount, enough to look respectable, 
yet not so much as to make him feel that he could 
not accept it, and then could send some word with 
it to make him believe that the gift came from an 
old friend who would not desert him in adversity.” 
Jean looks absently out of the window at the dull 
sky. “ Have I any right to send fifty dollars to an 
utter stranger, who may be the worst impostor on 
earth, for all I know ? But, no ; that couldn’t be ! 
He couldn’t look so clean and pure, and have talked 
in such a heartfelt yet dignified voice to that un- 
sympathetic, selfish old druggist. To think ! from 
riches way down to penury, without any warning ! 
Yes ; the least I can do is to send him fifty dollars 
— if for no other reason than to give temporary 
assistance to the mother and sister ; then, perhaps, 
I can find out who they are, and be of use to them 

in the future. I know Mr. D will have no 

good news for the poor fellow when he goes there 
this evening. I mean to try to get him a situation 
myself, if I can do it without being found out. 
Meanwhile, I must make the money do. Now for 


20 “ NO GENTLEMEN.’” 

the note ! What in the world shall I say ? ” and 
Jean takes a sheet of paper and begins writing. 
“Dear me! It would hardly do to send my 
monogram ; ” and pushing the sheet aside, she 
takes another, which is blank, and in itself will 
tell no tales. 

“A friend, happening to know that you are 

seeking a situation at D ’s, takes this method 

of offering you assistance, with the hope that you 
will have no hesitation in accepting and using the 
amount enclosed, for the benefit of your afflicted 
family.” 

“There, I think that is a singularly happy 
wording ! ” and Jean viewed her dashing, angular 
handwriting with satisfaction. “No clue! abso- 
lutely none ! Nothing to do but spend the money 
and ask no questions.” 

She folded the bills within the written sheet, 
and enclosed the whole in an envelope which she 
wealed, then on another sheet she wrote : 

“WTll Mr. D be so kind as to hand the 

enclosed to the gentleman who will call on him 
this evening, with regard to a situation?” 

Wrapping the money-envelope in this sheet, she 
tucked the little package into another envelope, 


CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. 


21 


which she directed to the druggist ; then throwing 
a blue shawl about her shoulders, she went down 
stairs, and, sending for Sam, gave him minute and 
emphatic directions, to each of which he responded 
with a nod of his woolly head and a “Ye-es ’m, 
ye-es ’m,” accompanied by a grin, which meant 
that he would do his best for his young mistress, 
at any time. 

Jean returned to ner room, and Mrs. Ivory, 
coming out of the sitting-room, intercepted the 
messenger. 

“ Did Miss Jean give you anything, Sam ? ” she 
asked carelessly. 

“Ye-es ’m ; she gi’ me twenty-five cents.” 

“Anything else, Sam ? ” 

“ You’d better ask Miss Jean. She’ll tell you 
all about it. She’s sent me an arrand, and I’se got 
to hurry ; ” and the man passed the angered lady 
of the house, secure in the sense of “ Miss Jean’s ” 
protection, while Mrs. Ivory turned back into her 
sitting-room, more vexed than ever at the im- 
pulsive girl, who insisted upon her high prerog- 
ative of making ducks and drakes of her fortune, 
by giving it in little driblets to aU who excited her 
sympathy. 


22 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


y* 


CHAPTEE n. 

THE LUNCH PARTY. 

Beauties— every shade of brown and fair. — The Princess. 

“ Girls, what will you wager that Jean will for- 
get to wear her class ring ? ” 

“Jean will do nothing of the sort ! The very 
idea is heresy, when we promised faithfully to wear 
them whenever we should all five be together ; and 
do you think that the very first time, any one of us 
would forget ? Perish the thought ! ” exclaims 
Euth Exeter, the hostess, turning her own ring on 
her finger. 

“Well now, you see,” remarks the first speak- 
er, in a teasing tone, “of course, you, Euth, are 
supposed to know Jean better than any of the rest 
of the class ; but I know her well enough to be 
sure that any thing would suffice to drive it out of 
her head, and if I prove to be right, won’t we just 
glory over her \ ” 

“ If she does forget it, Mabel, it will not be any 
thing to wonder at, for she has so many rings,” 


THE LUNCH PARTY. 


23 


Bays modest little Barbara Waite. “ I am so proud 
of mine, that I scarcely ever take it off.” 

“Polly, you are the only one that hasn’t had 
her say, says Kuth. “What is your private 
opinion, publicly expressed, of Jean’s loyalty?” 

The languid girl, thus addressed, shakes her 
head : “I should not presume to question it. You 
know her Highness always snubs me ; so I prefer 
to be neutral.” 

“There she is! There’s the carriage!” ex- 
claims Euth. “We are out of school — full-fledged 
young ladies, and this is a formal and select lunch 
party ; but I’m going to the door myself,” suiting 
the action to the word. 

“What ^ade you so late, Jean? Did you 
wear it ? ” 

“Wear it? How do you do, Mab, Barbara, 
Polly ? ” kissing each of her school friends as she 
names her. 

“Yes; your ring, you know. Of course, you 
wore it?” 

Jean falls back a step and looks at Euth, in 
sincere woe. 

“You didn’t, you perjured girl, when w6 
promised ! ” 


24 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


‘‘So we did,” says Jean, slowly. “I’m dread- 
fully mortified.” 

“If there’s a mean spirit under heaven, it is that 
which says ‘ I told you so ; ’ but I did tell you so, 
remember,” says yellow-haired Mabel Grant, “and 
I wish now we had made the wager something 
definite.” 

‘ ‘ What ! Have you been talking about it ? I am 
just horrified at my own breach of faith, and am 
willing to accept any punishment you think proper 
— from being rolled in a barrel lined with spikes, 
to giving you a dozen pairs of gloves apiece.” 

“We’ll let you off from any thing so bad as 
that,” says Kuth, taking the new comer’s hat and 
gloves, “only,” with a significant glance at the 
other girls, “what made you forget it? ” 

“ What made me forget it ? ” repeats Jean, with 
perplexed brow ; then, with sudden irrelevancy, 
“think, girls!” she exclaims, “how excited we 
were a week ago to-night. How we covered our- 
selves with glory and flowers ; and how much better 
than all the rest Mousie’s essay was ! ” and she 
pinches Barbara’s ear. “ Wouldn’t it be nice if we 
could have the other girls here ? It has been trails 
in the morning, trails at noon and trails at night, 


THE LUNCH PARTY. 


25 


for me, ever since,” adds Jean, incoherently, as 
she sweeps down the long drawing-room, looking 
over her shoulder at her long dress. 

“Yes, we are all playing at long dresses,” says 
Ruth, “ all but Barbara, who is too sensible to play* 
at any thing, and is going to remain a little girl ; 
and let us abuse her all we please.” 

Barbara looked up at tall Ruth, and down at her 
own brown muslin frock, and thought for the doz- 
enth time to-day, that surely no girls were ever so 
lovely as her class-mates. The little Barbara’s 
position might easily have been made forlorn 
enough among her wealthy sister pupils, for she 
was very poor, and shrinkingly modest and sensi- 
tive ; but Jean had taken her up, and the others 
had followed the fashion, at least in appearance ; 
so here, in this first reunion of the Boston mem- 
bers of the graduating class of ’78, Barbara Waite 
found herself in a handsome house on Common- 
wealth avenue, wondering at and enjoying its lux- 
ury, and profoundly appreciating the kindness of 
heart which allowed her to feel no difierence be- 
tween ten-cent musbn and silk grenadine. 

“Those reminiscences are all very well in their 
season, Jean,” says Mabel; “but you are trying 


26 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


to dodge Ruth’s question. Tell us what weighty 
matter made you forget your ring % ” 

“ It requires no weighty matter to make me for- 
get everything I ought to remember. You know 
that ! ” returns Jean, seating herself and using her 
fan. 

“Why, she’s blushing,” remarks Polly, curi- 
ously. 

“People usually blush in July, don’t they?” 
asks Miss Ivory, sharply. “What a change this is 
from yesterday ! Who was caught in the rain, 
beside me ? ” 

“I was,” says Barbara, eager to help her adored 
Jean to change an unpleasant subject. “What a 
strange, cold day it was, for the month ! ” 

“Yes; but it is Summer to-day, in earnest,” 
says Ruth, rising to open a window. “ Just about 
the right temperature for me. Red-headed people 
always like warm weather, don’t you know ? It 
suits their fiery temperaments.” 

“It is strange; but I liked yesterday better 
than to-day,” says Jean, with a gleam of mis> 
chief in her brown eyes. “I enjoyed it thor- 
oughly,” 

“See here, girls,” says Mabel; “Jean has a 


THE LUNCH PARTY. 


2T 


secret, and it is against the rules. Let’s make her 
tell it. Ruth, you must help.” 

“Oh, Ruth doesn’t care,” observes Polly, lazi- 
ly. “She knows Jean will tell her, the minute 
■they are alone.” 

“Well, I never in my life saw such a set,” 
laughs Jean. “ I supposed we were going to have 
an amicable little season of mutual congratulation, 
and instead, I have been pitched upon and cross 
questioned ever since I came in. Remember, we 
are out of school now, and all levity should be a 
thing of the past. There is Mrs. Exeter; how 
glad I am to see her!” and Jean rises to greet 
Ruth’s mother, who has just entered the room, and 
who is her ideal of all that is good and womanly. 

“So we have you all home for good now, my 
dear,” she says, holding Jean’s hand a moment 
after she has spoken to the others, as she looks 
up affectionately into the bright face. 

“Yes, Mrs. Exeter, as Professor Laramie 
informed us a week ago to-night, the world is 
before us where to choose — or words to that 
effect — and you see how we are beginning our 
new life. Our motto is, ‘ United we stand ; divided 
we fall.’” 


28 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


yy 


‘‘Yes, five good friends, and that is rather 
strange, too,” says the lady; “I should think 
that in such a number there must be an odd 
one.” 

“There usually is with us, Mrs. Exeter,” says 
Polly Gunther, abandoning her lolling position 
and speaking brightly; “but it is not always the 
same one. When Jean snubs me, it is I; when 
Mabel goes too far in teasing one of us, it is she, 
and when Ruth ” 

“Young ladies, please walk out to lunch,” 
interrupts Ruth, in a loud voice. “Polly, you 
were on the point of letting my mother know that 
I am not perfect. The shock of the discovery 
would have been too great for her.” 

The double doors at the end of the drawing- 
room open as if by magic, and disclose the hand- 
somely laid table in the dining-room beyond. 

“Miss Waite, may I have the pleasure?” 
continues Ruth, ofiering her arm to Barbara with 
a flourish. 

“How splendid and tall you are, Ruth ! ” says 
the little woman, taking the arm. 

“Yes, of the billiard-cue build — what the poets 
call willowy. There, Barbara, you sit between 


THE LUNCH PAETY. 


29 


Jean and Mabel; then, if Mab teases you, you 
can tell Jean.” 

“ The idea of my teasing, now that I am fairly 
in society ! ” says Mabel ; “I feel my dignity too 
much. But, Mrs. Exeter, do you think Jean has 
any right to keep secrets from the rest of us? 
She is fairly bursting with one, yet ” 

“I will,” interrupts Jean, magnanimously. “ I 
will tell you, for I know just how I should feel 
in your place ; but of course you will keep it 
a secret ; you will not let it go beyond this 
dining - room ? ” 

“ No, no ! ” 

“ Very well ; prepare to turn every color of 
the rainbow with jealousy. No wonder I liked 
yesterday better than to-day, in spite of wind 
and weather. I received a letter from Professor 
Laramie, and what should you all say if I told 
you that he conferred upon me the title of 
Bachelor of Arts ? ” 

“Jean! you, a bachelor!” exclaim all but 
Euth, who is not to be taken in by the com- 
pressed lips and mysterious nods with which Jean 
is favoring her audience. 

“I did not wish to tell you, my modesty is so 


30 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

sensitive ; but you would have it, and I am so fooh 
ishly yielding that I was obliged to defer to you. 
Polly, your appetite is not gone, I hope ? ” looking 
at Miss Gunther, who seems overcome. 

“How absurd!” says Mabel. “You must be 
joking, Jean 1 I did not know our professors con- 
ferred degrees ; and, if they do, why did you not 
receive yours last Thursday night ? ” 

Jean shrugs her shoulders. “ Now I hope you’ll 
let me alone,” she says. 

“Girls, I wish your undivided attention,” 
speaks Ruth, imperatively. “I have been think- 
ing much, since I came home, of what we are all 
going to do this Summer ; and I shall catechize 
you separately, commencing with Barbara, because 
she is the smallest. Barbara Waite, you are on 
oath. What are you going to do this Sum- 
mer ? ” 

“ Save up strength for the Winter,” replies the 
girl, promptly ; and Ruth immediately stigmatizes 
herself as a “ stupid,” for having expected that the 
little brown bird could have any plans for a gay 
holiday. 

“Just my doctrine,” she says aloud. “Polly 
Gunther, speak, and let the worst be known ! ” 


THE LUNCH jeARTY. 


31 


‘‘Aunt Martha is going to Newport. I dare 
say, if I tease hard enough, she will take me. ” 

“Mabel Grant ; the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth,” continues Ruth, impress- 
ively. 

“ My mother and I are going to spend a month 
with some friends, in their cottage by the sea.” 

“Jean?” 

“ My mind is a serene blank, my dear, so far as 
the future is concerned. I suppose mother has her 
plans ; but she has been so busy dressing me to 
suit her, the past week, that we haven’t mentioned 
the subject. Now, turn about being fair play, 
what does the right honorable Ruth Exeter intend 
to do this Summer ! ” 

“Order! exclaims Ruth, rapping the handle 
of her fork on the table. “ I have the floor, and 
have no intention of relinquishing it for the pres- 
ent to any girl, bachelor or benedict. My friends, 
you are all under twenty years of age — that is, all 
except ma — and are, therefore, young.” 

“What a marvelous gift of language!” ex- 
claims Jean, in an undertone, at the same time 
raising an imaginary eyeglass, through which to 
gaze admiringly at her friend. 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 






“What we all need is rest, after the arduous 
course of study which we have just completed,” 
continues Kuth, “and I tell you, girls,” dropping 
suddenly from oratory to familiar speech, “if we 
do not need it now, we shall need it badly enough 
next Winter, and as Barbara says, what we want to 
do is to bottle up strength for the coming cam- 
paign ; and a watering-place is no place to do it.” 

“ Hear ! hear ! ” says Mabel. 

“Just think of the fatigue and excitement of 
keeping all the time dressed up, and hopping half 
the night, to say nothing of taking your death 
of cold strolling on the piazza with gentlemen who 
wonder whether your father really has money, or 
whether your diamonds are rented ! Beside all 
that, if we go, we shall be comparatively old stories 
next Winter, to many, when we come out. My 
sister, Mrs. Fellows — Jean knows her — says she 
wouldn’t do it for any thing, if she was us.” 

“Kuthie, dear, do talk slower, and be a little 
more of a credit to Professor Laramie’s class in 
grammar,” interrupts Mrs. Exeter, laughing. 

“Yes’m. Now, girls, there is a pasture fair 
where we may all be turned loose this Summer, 
and then be ready to flash like meteors upon th© 


THE LUNCH PART\ 


33 


social world of Boston next Winter. A paif^dise 
of cream and honey — and the angel that beckons 
us on is Hopeful Bounce, of Pincland, Mass. 
John,” to the servant, ‘‘please bring me the 
morning paper.” 

“You are carrying your audience with you, 
Ruth,” says Polly. 

“That is precisely what I wish to do ; to carry 
you, every one, with me,” returns Ruth, as the 
paper is handed to her. “Just listen to this : 

“ ‘ Wanted, lady boarders for the Summer, in a 
farm-house, located in a pleasant spot near running 
water. Children, whose mothers would like to 
leave them for some weeks in a healthful place, 
may also be taken ; but no gentlemen. Apply, 
either personally or by letter, to Hopeful Bounce, 
Pineland, Mass. No gentlemen,'* Hear that, girls ! 
The advertisement actually repeats the warning in 
italics, as though Hopeful Bounce expected to be 
swooped down upon by a horde of the male sex, 
the instant her attractive advertisement should meet 
their eyes. Well, what do you think of it? ” and 
Ruth leans back iii her chair, quite oblivious of the 
tempting ices and fruit which are set before her. 

Jean is the first to reply : “ Probably some out- 
C 


34 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 




of-the-way, inland place, where it would be suffer- 
ingly warm all the time, and a swarm of mosquitoes 
would cluster about our heads, and follow us where- 
ever we went.” 

“And no gentlemen,” remarks Mabel, in hon* 
est disapproval. 

“We should eat each other up in a week, just 
for a little excitement,” adds Polly. 

“ Well, Barbara,” says Kuth, “ you are the only 
one who has not crushed my pet plan,” 

“I think it sounds very delightful,” says Bar- 
bara, heartily; “but of course, it can not affect 
me personally.” 

“Ruth,” says Jean, after some moments 
thought, “ all things considered, your idea is a good 
one. I hope Pineland is not quite out of the 
world ; but I will go with you, with all my heart, 
and we will bottle up so much strength and good 
looks, as entirely to outshine these watering-place 
belles, when it comes to a matter of active service, 
next Winter.” 

“Oh, if you go, I wish to,” says Mabel. 

“And I am determined to,” adds Polly. 

Barbara looks up smilingly. It is a matter of 
course that she can not be in her dear girls’ good 


THE LUNCH PARTY. 


35 


times — something to which she has made up her 
mind ; but she is glad for Ruth that powerful Jean 
has again led the fashion in the right direction. 
The latter speaks again calmly, but as one in au- 
thority : 

“ Any one who goes to Pineland must make up 
her mind to bear and forbear under all possible 
trials, or else pack her little trunk and return home; 
for we can not have any malcontents in Arcadia. 
So, look before you leap.” 

‘‘ Did you ever see any thing like Jean ? ” asks 
Ruth, turning to her mother. ‘‘A moment ago 
this was my plan ; now, she will engineer the 
whole matter, conduct the business arrangements 
and enforce discipline. All I ever have to do is to 
set the ball rolling, and Jean will keep it going.” 

“ That is the whole difference between mind and 
matter,” observes Jean. “I am the machinery. 
You just pour in the gray matter of the brain, and 
I grind it out into practical shape. Now, I am in 
f&,vor of applying in person to Hopeful Bounce. 
Will you go with me, Ruth, perhaps to-morrow ? ” 

‘‘Impulsive as usual,” says Mrs. Exeter, shak- 
ing her head. 

“Why not strike while the iron is hot?” con- 


36 


“NO GENTI^EMEN.’ 




tinues Jean. “If the girls are quite sure they 
will go, we shall want several rooms, and can 
have first choice.” 

“ Of course, you do n’t include me ? ” says 
Barbara. 

“Perhaps I do,” responds Jean, coolly. “Will 
you go to-morrow, Ruth?” 

“Yes — if I should happen to recover my 
breath by that time. I can not follow you, you 
go so fast.” 

“ Then, Mrs. Exeter, with your permission, I 
will take your daughter home with me this after- 
noon, to spend the night, and to - morrow we will 
set forth on our travels. Shall we not engage 
board for you, as well?” 

‘ ‘ No, indeed ; I can not go to a place where 
they divorce husband and wife.” 

“Hopeful Bounce must be a kind of modern 
Princess Ida,” remarked Mabel. “I have no 
doubt we shall find on her gate the inscription, 
‘Let no man enter here on pain of death.’” 

“ Then I don’t see how Jean will be admitted,” 
smiles Barbara ; “ she will have to keep it secret 
that she is a bachelor.” 

“ She ’s no more a bachelor than I am,” asserts 


THE LUNCH PARTY. 


37 


Miss Gunther, scornfully. “ She has n’t taken me 
in, if she has the rest of you.” 

“Then Miss Ivory has told a wrong story,” 
says Mabel, decidedly. 

“Not at all,” says Jean, off her guard. “I 
asked you what you should all say if I were a 
bachelor, and not one of you has answered me, 
or said whether you would be glad or sorry. I 
think you’re hardly polite.” 

“And Jean’s secret, if she has one, is as safe 
as ever,” remarks Mrs. Exeter. 

Yes, Jean’s secret, which she finds so absorb- 
ing, is safe. Since she sent away her anonymous 
gift, yesterday, but little else has occupied her 
mind, than thoughts of her unknown protege : 
What he thought when he saw the money ; 
whether it came in time to relieve some pressing 
petty need ; which of his friends he had decided 
upon as the donor ; whether his pride was injured, 
or his heart filled with gratitude ? These ques- 
tions and dozens beside have pressed into her 
mind. Never before has a charity so taken hold 
upon her interest, and she considers it a delight- 
ful beginning to her new life. 

Jean Ivory knows howto keep her own secrets,* 


38 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


but, while she and Kuth are driving home, late this 
afternoon, the temptation is too great to be resisted, 
to tell her friend the whole story. There seems no 
particular reason why she should keep it from 
Ruth, for the Exeters have been associated with 
her many a time in deeds of charity, and J ean has 
become accustomed to talking over such matters 
with this friend. 

And he is handsome, you say ? ” is Ruth’s first 
question, upon hearing the story. 

“Why, yes, I think so,” returns Jean, doubt- 
fully; then adds enthusiastically, “his face is so 
clean.” 

“How odd ! ” exclaims Ruth. “I wonder if I 
shall ever be permitted to gaze upon this eighth 
wonder ? ” 

“ Hush,” laughs Jean ; “ don’t you know, some 
people impress you as being pre-eminently clean ? 
Well, he does, his teeth are so white and his skin 
so fair.” 

“Why, bless his little heart,” murmurs th 
Irrepressible Ruth. 

“Oh, no,” says Jean, determined to be literal, 
“he is a very big unfortunate.” 

“Big enough for me? Oh, where is he? ” and 


THE LUNCH PAKTY. 


39 


Miss Exeter settles her hat and smoothes on het 
gloves, as if to make an immediate assault. “1 
will raise him from penury before his clean face 
has had time to get soiled, and marry him just as 
a reward of merit for being tall.” 

“Behave, Ruth ! Now, do you think I could 

go to Mr. D , and question him with sufficient 

caution to find out who this man is, and so find a 
situation fcr him, without being found out my- 
self? ” 

“ Hew should Mr. D know him ? He was 

probably cno of a dozen applicants.” 

“True enough,” says Jean, disappointedly. “I 
do net know why, bnt I had quite settled it in 

my own mind that Mr. D knew all about him. 

That is the reason why I hardly feel like hurrying 
away from tho city yet. I feel a care of that 
young man’s family.” 

“Well, you are a good, unselfish girl, to take 
so much interest in my plan, when your heart is 
not in it.” 

“Oh, yes, it is,” returns Jean, disregarding her 
friend’s teasing tone ; “you know I can not bear 
to dawdle over things. I want to go right ahead 
with a plan.” 


40 


NO GENTLEMEN. 


(4 

“Good or bad, I suppose,” observes Kuth. 

“ That is what mother thinks,” laughs the other. 
“If I would dawdle a little more, and study over 
the pros and cons of an idea a month or so, she 
would be better satisfied.” 

“You and Mrs. Ivory are very good friends in 
these days ? ” asks Ruth, with a quick glance at 
her friend. 

“Yes ; Tve agree on all subjects but the use of 
money,” replies Jean, smiling. 


AN UNGRACIOUS RESPONSE. 


41 


CHAPTER m. 

AN UNGRACIOUS RESPONSE. 

Like a dream, the whole is fled. — R ogers. 

Dinner is over. Jean and Ruth are with Mr. 
and Mrs. Ivory in their sitting - robm, regaling 
them with bits of school news, which have not yet 
had time to grow stale. 

“I can not realize yet that we are not going 
back in the Fall,” Ruth is saying, when the door 
opens and a servant enters, bringing a note on a 
salver. 

‘‘For Miss Ivory,” she says. 

Jean takes the sealed envelope and looks at the 
superscription. “ Miss Ivory, Addressed,” is what 
she sees written in a strange hand-writing, and evi- 
dently that of a gentleman. 

Mrs. Ivory’s curious eyes fasten upon it imme- 
diately. She sees that the puzzled look on her 
step-daughter’s countenance is not feigned. 

“Read it, Jean,” she says; “we will excuse 


42 “NO GENTLEMEN.’' 

Jean takes a pearl-handled knife from a table, 
near, and opens the note. She may be more breezy 
in her movements than her protege approves, 
but she is graceful in every thing she does, from 
the greatest to the least, and would no more tear 
open a letter than she would be untidy in her dress. 

Pressing the edges of the envelope, she draws 
out the paper within, and something protruding 
slightly therefrom meets her eye. It is money ! 
With a mighty rush, all the blood in her body 
seems to press into her face and neck ; but she 
controls herself well. She knows in a moment 
what has come back to her ; knows the denomina- 
tion of each bill in the envelope ; knows what hand 
penned the superscription ; and also knows that if 
her mother should catch an inkling that any thing 
unusual is going on, she will be questioned and 
cross-questioned beyond all endurance. 

The color recedes from face and throat, leaving 
the clear whiteness of her skin just as usual, as, 
with a careless pat of her hand, she sends the tell- 
tale enclosure back into the envelope. i 

“I know what it is,” she says indifferently ; but 
Mrs. Ivory has seen the rush of color and the in- 
voluntary start. 


AN UNGRACIOUS RESPONSE. 


43 


‘‘Is it an answer to the note Sam carried yes- 
terday ? ” she asks. 

“It is one of my little business afiairs, which is 
at last settled up. I couldn’t think of troubling 
you with the details,” returns the girl, as coolly 
as though her heart were not drumming out a 
quickstep against her ribs, with excitement, dis- 
appointment, mortification, and a curiosity to know 
whether or no any words accompany the enclosure, 
and, if so, what they may be. 

“Yes; I dare say, the details would trouble 
me,” retorts Mrs. Ivory. “I think your father is 
the person to conduct your business afiairs.” 

“So you have mentioned at various times, my 
dear,” says Mr. Ivory, pleasantly, “elean knows 
that I am always at her service when she needs 
me.” 

Jean, who is sitting next her father, reaches out 
her hand and gives his an appreciative little 
squeeze, and, as Jean’s hand is simply perfect in 
shape, size and color, and its touch like fine satin, 
her father enjoys the caress correspondingly. 

Kuth is accustomed to these wordy wars on the 
subject of Jean’s freedom, and to her Mrs. Ivory 
addresses her next remark : 


44 


GENTLEMEN.’ 


» 


‘‘Jean has need of a combination of qualities, 
which is simply impossible in a girl of her age, in 
order to govern her fortune properly ; but then, it 
is none of my business, and I do wish I could let the 
matter alone ; ” and her companions echo the lady’s • 
wish heartily. “ Every one knows,” she continues, 
“that Mr. Ivory is a little touched in the head 
where Jean is concerned, and thinks she can do no 
wrong.” 

“If that is the case, father,” says Jean, “per- 
haps you will consider it right for me to go to my 
room. Euth and I wish to get a long sleep to- 
night, as we are going on an excursion to-morrow. ” 

“Where?” asks Mr. Ivory. 

“To Pineland, a little village hardly more than 
an hour’s ride from Boston ; and when we learn 
certain facts, we will lay before you a plan which 
we have for the Summer, which is so very exem- 
plary, healthful and economical^ that even mother 
wiU approve it. Come, Euth.” 

So the young ladies say good-night and go up 
to their room. Jean lights the gas, closes the door, 
and seats herself at a table, while Euth takes up an 
autograph album and appears to be deeply inter- 
ested in its contents, in order to give Jean oppor- 


AN UNGRACIOUS RESPONSE. 


45 


tunity to read her letter undisturbed. She suspects 
that the note has to do with the adventure of 
which her friend has told her ; but one peculiarity 
of Ruth’s is, never to show undue interest in other 
•people’s affairs, and she is such a wonder among 
women in this particular that, if Jean says not 
one word more about her letter. Miss Exeter will 
sleep just as sweetly as though nothing had hap- 
pened. 

There is a short silence ; then a slight sound at- 
tracts Ruth’s attention, and, turning, she sees Jean 
with hands upon the table and face bowed upon 
her hands. Beside her lies a confused heap of 
paper and greenbacks. 

Ruth is at a loss what to do. She does not wish 
to force her friend’s confidence, but Jean’s attitude 
is so suggestive of tears and misery, that it seems 
heartless to say nothing. She draws near and 
stands a moment, irresolute ; then, laying a hand 
on the glossy black hair, asks : 

“Jean, are you crying?” 

The suddenness with which Miss Ivory starts 
up, upon this, causes her friend to retreat a step 
and stare in amazement at the flushed face and 
bright, tearless eyes that regard her. 


46 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


“ Crying ? No, I am not crying. I am simply 
dying with rage and mortification ? ” 

“Then it is about your protege with the clean 

facer' 

“Clean face? Who says he has a clean face ! 
I can remember it now — a supercilious, high and 
mighty, insupportable face ; and I wish I had never 
seen it.” 

Silence for a minute, during which Ruth tries 
not to laugh, and hopes Jean is not going to cry. 
But she need not fear that. Miss Ivory was never 
further from weeping. 

“ Could any thing — if one thought over it for 
a year — could any thing be more humiliating ? It 
is bad enough, and lowering and silly enough, to 
try to be anonymous and fail, to say nothing of — 
Oh, Ruth, I won't bear it!” and down goes the 
face on the hands again. 

“But I don’t know what you are talking about, 
Jean,” says Ruth, fearing that something very 
dreadful must have come of her friend’s cherished 
plan. 

“So you don’t!” exclaims Jean, straightening 
up again as suddenly as before; “but you will 
know in a minute, for I will read you the whole 


AN UNGRACIOUS RESPONSE. 


47 


thing, but I won’t touch it again. Hand me my 
crimping-irons out of that drawer.” 

Kuth complies, and Jean picks up the letter by 
one corner, between the irons, and, holding it thus, 
reads in a clear tone : 

‘“Boston, July 2, ’78.’ 

“That’s this morning, Euth, when I was getting 
ready to go to your lunch, and thinking all the 
time of how happy — but no matter. 

“ ‘Miss Ivory : I was for a time completely at 
a loss what to think of the surprising note and en- 
closure which were handed me last evening ; but 
as I soon recalled the fact of your presence in 

D ’s drug store, yesterday, while I was trying 

to secure a situation for a friend, it was quite easy 
to select you as the anonymous giver. 

“ ‘Although you, under the mistaken idea that 
I myself was in need, have intended your gener- 
ous gift for my use, I should not return it to you 
upon that account, for I comprehend perfectly that 
it was the sufferer whom you wished to assist, and 
not the man ; but I can hardly think that you had 
taken sufficient time to reflect, before giving the 
sum of fifty dollars to an entire stranger. More- 
over, my friend has done better for himself than I 


48 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


>> 


was able to do for him, and has secured a desirable 
situation ; so I return to you by safe hands the 
money which, perhaps, ought not to have left 
yours, without a greater knowledge of the facts, 
and subscribe myself, yours truly.’ ” 

Jean stops and looks eloquently at her friend. 

“ ‘ Yours, truly ’ — what ? ” asks Ruth. 

“Nobody. ‘Yours truly;’ that is all; but I 
do not need any name for the self-sufficient prig 
that could write that letter and Jean hurls the 
sheet from her with all her force, but, with the 
arbitrariness of letter-paper, it describes a small 
circle in the air and lands in her lap. 

“How delicate of him, not to sign his name,” 
says Ruth. “ I can imagine just how he reasoned 
it out, that you would probably not remember a 
face which you had hardly had a fair look at, 
and that if you were in ignorance of his name, you 
would not be embarrassed if in the future you 
should meet him.” 

“Do you think that makes it any pleasanter for 
me?” asks Jean, sharply. “I know just what 
kind of a person he is — ^loftily perfect, never for- 
getting any thing he ought to remember, or re- 
membering any thing he ought to forget. There 


AN UNGRACIOUS RESPONSE. 


49 


is one thing I wish I could forget, which I never 
shall, and that is his disagreeable face.” 

‘‘What a pity that it was so strikingly clean,” 
observes Euth, musingly. 

“Euth Exeter, I believe you are taking that 
man’s part, and teasing me.” 

“You see I can not forget that he is tall, and 
that covers such a multitude of sins with me,” 
smiles Euth. “I have to snub almost every man 
that comes near me, you know, I feel such a giant- 
ess beside most of them.” 

“What a pity that I told you any thing about 
it,” says Jean, gloomily, looking into space; “it 
would be so much easier to bear, if no one knew 
about it, but myself.” 

“ Why, how you are exaggerating ! ” says Euth, 
in a different tone, while she kneels by her friend’s 
side, and Jean leans her elbows on the table and 
supports her chin on her hands. 

“What is it, after all, that you are making so 
much of? You have tried to do a generous act 
secretly, and have been found out in it.” 

“Yes, I have ; and while I have been imagining 
the heart-felt gratitude of ‘Yours truly,’ and glo- 
rifying myself and telling you all about it, he 
D 3 


50 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

has been raising his eyebrows in lofty surprise and 
writing me a reprimand as though I were his ward, 
at the very least. No, don’t say another word 
about it. I shall never get over it — never. Wise 
Hopeful Bounce ! I long to enroll myself beneath 
the banner of one who will ‘ make it death for any 
niale thing but to peep at us.’ Let us go to bed 
and to sleep, and dream of Pineland,” finishes 
Jean, rising abruptly, and Euth wisely refrains 
from saying any more on the subject. 

But Jean does not sleep until the small hours. 
Her disappointment is very great, and her chagrin 
disproportionate to the occasion. She feels her- 
self at so great a disadvantage with this stranger, 
who, it appears, knows her, and who has not hesi- 
tated to show his disapproval of her impulsive 
generosity. 

“What would mother not give to know of this 
adventure,” she thinks ; and the thought is so dis- 
agreeable that Jean rises from her uneasy couch, 
and, stealing about quietly, in order not to disturb 
Euth’s slumbers, gathers together the letter itself 
and such little scraps, left about her desk from yes- 
terday, as bear upon the subject — the request to 
Mr. D , that he will hand the enclosed, etc. ; 


AN UNGRACIOUS RESPONSPl. 


51 


the exhortation to the unknown to have no hesita^ 
tion in using the money, of which latter she had 
made several copies before getting one to satisfy 
her, and the calm reply ; then, vindictively crum^ 
pling them into a little ball, she looks around for 
something in which to burn them, finally empty- 
ing a bronze card-receiver, into which she drops 
the ball, and, setting fire to it, watches it burn and 
turn to ashes. 

‘‘How overcome he was by grateful emotions ! ” 
she thinks, remembering with scorn her eager con- 
jectures. Looking around, she espies, lying on 
the floor, the envelope which contained the words 
that have disquieted her so greatly. She picks it 
up and looks at it : 

“ ‘Miss Ivory, Addressed.’” 

“Miss Ivory, you had better keep that,” she re- 
flects. “ It escaped the holocaust, in all probability, 
because it still has a mission to perform ; and when 
ever you feel particularly well satisfied with a feat 
in future, just come and cast your eye upon this.” 

Then taking the bills from the table and tossing 
them loosely into a drawer of her dressing-case, 
Jean puts the envelope in a place of safety and 
goes back to bed — this time, to sleep. 


52 


“NO GENTLEMEN,*^ 


CHAPTER IV. 

HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 

Her ’prentice han’ she tried on man, 

An’ then she made the lasses, O. — Burns. 

The next morning finds the two friends ready 
to set forth on their quest. Jean’s eyes are 
brighter than usual, but no reference does she 
make to the events of the previous evening. 

Mr. Ivory puts the young ladies on the train, 
and asks no questions, as is his reprehensible 
custom. 

It proves rather a silent ride, for Jean is buried 
in thought, and Ruth does not disturb her. 

“Only fifteen minutes before we are due, 
Ruth,” she says at last, consulting her watch ; 
then to the conductor, who is just passing : 
“Are we not due at Pineland at 11:30?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I suppose you understand that 
we do not go through Pineland ? ” 

“Do not ? ” 

No ; we go through Pineland Centre. There ’ll 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


53 


be a stage there that will take you to Pineland ; ” 
and he passed on. 

“Well, Ruth, the plot thickens.” 

“Yes. What if it is a dreary, deserted place 
that will make us home-sick to look at ? ” 

“In that case, we will look at it as short a time 
as possible and come away.” 

“Oh, Jean; how in the world shall we direct 
the driver ? That wholesale man-hater never signi- 
fied whether she was Mrs. or Miss.” 

“Here we are,” says Jean, by way of answer ; 
and Ruth follows her out upon the platform. 

As they step from the train, the former sees the 
conductor standing near : 

“Show us the Pineland stage, please,” she 
says. 

“Oh, certainly,” leading the way to where 
three stages are backed up against the platform. 
“Here, Dan,” he calls to the driver of a brokem 
down, forlorn old conveyance, “here are two pass- 
engers for you. That farthest one, ladies ; ” then 
he boards the train which is already in motion, and 
Jean and Ruth look at one another in amazement. 

“That thing, Jean! We can't get into that 
rattle-trap.” 


54 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“Yes, we can’ — we have to. Why, how 
delightfully primitive this — what-is-it is ! ” 

“Do wait till the train gets out of sight,” im- 
plores Euth, beginning to giggle ; “do look as if 
we were intending to go any where but to Pine- 
land proper.” 

J The driver leaves the sleepy old horses and 
holds the door open. 

“Never let it be said that we were slaves to ap- 
pearances,” murmurs Jean, as she enters ; and as 
soon as the girls are seated, the man fastens a strap 
across the vehicle directly under their chins, mean- 
while chewing in an undisguised and nonchalant 
manner. 

“This is too much!” exclaims Euth, as the 
driver ascends to his place. “Is he afraid we will 
slip off the seat, or that we shall escape without 
pa3dng our fare ? ” 

“I don’t know,” replies Jean ; “but I’m deter., 
mined not to show any surprise, whatever the ab- 
origines do to me. I feel like Georgiana Podsnap, 
trying to see over the front of the chariot. Why, 
Euth, he has started, and he does n’t know where 
to take us ! ” 

Euth’s only answer is to laugh, and continue to 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


55 


laugh, until the tears roll down her face. Jean 
follows her friend's tearful eyes to the tattered can- 
opy under which they are sitting, and laughs too, 
but is too much in earnest to lose her self-control. 

‘‘Sit back, Ruth, then you will not be jolted 
against the strap. Think of all this, within an 
hour and a half of the Hub. There is a lady going 
to get in ; do stop laughing, you will hurt her feel- 
ings. ” 

So Ruth sits back in a corner, and holds her 
handkerchief to her eyes. 

The driver does not trouble himself to dismount 
for his new passenger, who carries an immense 
bouquet of asters, and who says, as she pulls open 
the door : “Drop me a little this side o’ Damons’s, 
Dan.” 

Dan nods, and Jean leans her head out. 

“Do you know where the Bounce place is, in 
Pineland ? ” she asks of the driver. 

“The Red Farm, she means,” volunteers the 
new passenger, in a loud tone. 

“ Yes ; should think I did,” returned the driver. 

“We wish to go there,” says Jean. 

“Wall,” responds the driver. 

“What a perfect Chesterfield,” whispers Ruth. 


56 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


if 


The use of the strap now becomes evident as the 
new comer seats herself in front of the girls and 
leans back against it. 

“How stupid we were,” says Jean, “and how 
dusty it is ! ” 

“The idea of the Bounce being so afraid she 
would be overrun with gentlemen applicants ! 
How many gentlemen would pass through this or- 
deal every time they wished to go to town ? ” 

“ They wouldn’t go to town,” says Jean. “Evi- 
dently, we shall be as secluded as any one could 
possibly wish. I begin to feel already as if I 
were falling into a Kip Van Winkle sleep.” 

At this juncture the new passenger, who wears 
spectacles, turns around and gazes over them fixed- 
ly at Ruth. 

“Was you formerly Miss Green?” she asks 
deliberately. 

“Not that I remember,” replies Miss Exeter, 
growing scarlet with suppressed laughter, and 
Jean, in order to draw attention from her friend, 
joins in the conversation. 

“Are you sure that the Bounce Farm and the 
Red Farm are the same ? ” she inquires politely. 

“Of course, I be;” and the spectacles 


are 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


57 


turned upon Jean; ‘‘I mistrust you’re answerin’ 
the advertisement ? ” 

‘‘Yes, we are,” smiles Miss Ivory. 

“You don’t say so ! ” exclaims the other. “Well 
now, I hope you’ll like it, for Hopeful’s sake. I’ve 
just been visitin’ her sister that lives to the Centre. 
She married my husband’s brother, and it was the 
wust day’s work she ever done in her life. ” 

“Is the mistress of Ked Farm married?” asks 
Jean. 

“Married? Hopeful, married?” and the eyes 
behind the spectacles close up tight as their stout 
owner laughs until the stage shakes. “No, she 
ain’t married. You won’t see no men folks there, 
except Jabe, and he’s a kind of a innocent. He 
does the chores, you know.” 

Jean considers it the part of wisdom to obtain 
further information from headquarters ; so no 
more words are exchanged on the hot, dusty drive, 
which is of about an hour’s duration ; then the old 
stage enters an opening in a high stone wall, and, 
after a drive of several minutes, draws up before 
the entrance of a rambling, delightfully old-fash- 
ioned, red farm-house. 

Their sister passenger has already been left “ this 


58 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’’ 

side of Damons’s,” and the two girls dismount. 
Jean makes arrangements with the driver to take 
them back to Pineland in half an hour, then 
knocks at the farm-house door. 

“Please think of another hour’s ride in that 
stage, Jean,” says Ruth, in dismay. 

“Yes, we must think twice before we decide on 
this plan ; but is n’t it a pleasant old homestead 
— so cool and green, after the dusty road ? Why 
does n’t Miss Bounce make her appearance ? ” and 
Jean knocks again with all her force. 

Almost immediately the door is opened and 
Hopeful Bounce stands confessed — a tall, very thin 
woman, with a long neck, which is displayed from 
jaw bone to collar bone by the cut of her dress. 
Her hair is done in a tight nub, except two short 
locks which form a curl on either side of her much 
wrinkled face. Her mouth, which, from being 
pursed up tightly almost every hour in the twenty- 
four, has a gathered-in, wrinkled appearance, re- 
laxes slightly at sight of her visitors. 

“ This is Miss Bounce, I presume,” says Jean. 
“We have called in answer to your advertise- 
ment.” 

“Yes; walk right in,” says the spinster; then, 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


59 


suddenly interrupting herself: “What’s that!” 
she exclaims, catching sight of the stage and its 
driver. 

“We came up in the stage, of course,” replies 
Jean, “and I told the driver we should return in 
half an hour. Evidently, he considers this a pretty 
spot to wait in.” 

But Jean’s delightful manner is without effect 
upon pre-occupied Miss Bounce, whose eagle eye is 
upon the unconscious Dan, stretched at full length 
on her lawn. 

“You'd better send him off,” she says sharply. 
“I’ll git you to the train.” 

So Jean goes and pays the driver, who disap- 
pointedly gathers himself together, and, climbing 
to his seat, takes up the reins and goes. 

“He’s a worthless critter,” asserts the hostess. 
“Walk in, ladies,” and the friends follow her to 
the darkened best parlor, the stifled air of which is 
almost suffocating, this July day. 

“Take us right where you were sitting. Miss 
Bounce. Do not let us detain you from your 
work,” says Jean. 

“ Oh, I was n’t doin’ nothin’ pertikeler. Things 
can wait.” 


60 


“NO GENTLEMEN/ 


»> 

“ But it is so dark and close in here,” says Jean, 
abruptly. 

Miss Bounce looks at her, half in amazemeni 
and half in anger ; but the preceding hour has 
made decided inroads on Miss Ivory’s patience, 
and although she can smile upon Miss Bounce in 
the most winning manner, she is none the less 
determined to have her own way and be com- 
fortable. ‘‘Perhaps you were at your dinner? 
I did not think of that,” she continues. “Let 
us wait out of doors in the shade, until you have 
finished.” 

“No ; I was just goin’ to have it. Miss ” 

“Ivory,” adds Jean, “ and this is Miss Exeter. 
We have come to see what you offer, before mak- 
ing other plans for the Summer.” 

Miss Bounce takes another look at her visitors, 
and seems to be well pleased with their appearance, 
for she says heartily : 

“Now, you both lay off your hats and take 
dinner with me. There ain’t no place to the vil- 
lage where you can git a mouthful ; so, you may 
as well, and we can talk things over comfortable. 
Come up stairs, for I dare say you feel dusty aftei 
ridin’ in that stage.” 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


61 


At this unexpected hospitality, Jean’s conscience 
smites her for having criticized the air of the best 
parlor ; and she and Ruth follow their entertainer 
up stairs to a bed-room, where they proceed to re- 
move their hats. 

“You are very kind. Miss Bounce. It would 
be a great privilege to wash our faces and hands, 
but we must not put you to further trouble.” 

“No trouble at all. Miss Avery. If you ’ll ex- 
cuse me, I ’ll go down stairs and be puttin’ dinner 
on the table, and you come down as soon as you’re 
ready.” 

“Did you ever know any thing like it, Jean?” 
exclaims Ruth, admiringly, when they are alone. 
“-The idea of her taking us right in, and doing for 
us — perfect strangers, as we are ! I should be 
ashamed not to engage board after this ; should n’t 
you ? ” 

“Oh, no. This hospitality is only a sort of an 
addendum to the advertisement. It does n’t bind 
us to any thing. This is a pleasant room. I hope 
they are all like it. ” 

“So do I. Come down, if you are ready. I ’m 
hungry.” 

Jean obeys, and the two go down into the dark' 


62 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

ened parlor, where they have to wait only a min- 
ute for their hostess. 

“Now, walk right out, please,” she says. 
“You've come upon me, unexpected, and you’ll 
have to take me as you find me.” 

“We are not afraid to do so,” responds Jean, 
as she follows Miss Bounce to the well-spread table ; 
“and should you have taken your dinner alone, 
but for us ? ” 

“ Yes ; I live by myself, and sometimes the old 
house seems so big and lonely, I feel as if I must 
go ’way and leave it ; but I can’t bring my mind to 
it. That’s how I come to think of takin’ Summer 
boarders,” explains Miss Bounce, helping her 
guests diligently. 

“We came up in the stage with a friend of 
yours,” says Euth ; “a stout woman, with spec- 
tacles. She asked us if we were coming here to 
stay.” 

“I guess that was Aunt Allen — not my aunt, 
but aunt to the whole village, you know. ’Twas 
she put it into my head first to take boarders. She 
was here one day, about a month ago, an’ I was 
tollin’ her how big an’ empty the old house seems 
since Jerushy died. Jerushy was my sister, an’ 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


63 


she died, a year ago now, of typhus. I have 
one other sister, married, an’ livin’ to Pineland 
Centre ; her husband’s a brute an’ treats her like 
one, but she’s fool enough to live with him through 
it all, so I don’t see much of her. She knows she 
can come here an’ live, any time she’s willin’ to 
come without him. My father was a well-to-do 
man, an’ he left enough to keep us three girls ; 
but J erushy’s dead, an’ Alice is as good as dead, to 
me, my only brother was killed in the war, so here 
I am, alone — an’ as I was sayin’ Aunt Allen 
advised me to wear out rather than rust out. She 
said that day — says she, ‘ It’s a shame to let this 
great, well-furnished house lie empty. Why don’t 
you fill it this Summer with boarders ? ’ ‘ Because, 
I won’t cater to no men,’ says I. Says she : ‘You 
don’t need to. Hopeful. Even if you took children 
alone, an’ took care of ’em, it would be good for 
you and for them, and plenty of mothers would 
like to be left free to go to the seashore without 
’em ! ’ But I think she was mistaken in that, for 
no children have offered, and I don’t expect none ; 
but, if any young ladies, like you, think they 
could be comfortable in such a quiet place, I shall 
be pleased to have ’em.” 


64 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


)» 


“We have 'been thinking strongly of it,” says 
Jean ; “the stage ride is the great objection.” 

“If that’s all, you don’t need to take that,” 
says Miss Bounce ; “you can go direct from Pine- 
land to Boston, by changing cars, and you shall 
go home that way this afternoon. ” 

“That would make a difference,” returns Jean. 
“ Could you let us have accommodation for five ? ” 

“Five, Jean?” puts in Ruth; “Barbara isn’t 
coming, you know.” 

“Yes, she is, if her mother will let her,” 
responds the other. 

“ Yes, I hain’t had only one application” — ^Miss 
Bounce pronounces it apply cation — “ from a wid- 
ow lady and her niece, in Boston. They want ore 
room ; then I have four rooms beside, that you can 
choose from, beside some small rooms that don’t 
hardly count. It’s a big house. Would you like 
to go over it ? ” 

The young ladies reply in the affirmative, and, 
dinner over, they are shown into each corner of the 
old place. 

“It is just as fascinating as it can be,” exclaims 
Ruth, enthusiastically, peering into the dark re- 
cesses of the attic. 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


65 


‘‘And just as torrid, too, up there, Ruth ; so I 
beg of you not to investigate further, now. If you 
will give me the refusal of th^e rooms for a day 
or two. Miss Bounce, you shall hear from me as 
soon as possible.” 

“Very well,” replies Miss Bounce ; “and now 
you have an hour before the train goes. Would 
you like to sa’nter about the farm, or wait in the 
house ? ” 

“Oh, let us ‘sa’nter,’ by all means,” replies 
Ruth, squeezing Jean’s arm ; “ only be sure to call 
us in time.” 

So the girls take their hats and go, while their 
hostess watches them from the doorway. 

“I mistrust that that there lanky one is full o’ 
the old mischief,” she muses ; “but Miss Avery ’s 
a beauty — got somethin’ on her mind, though ; but 
who hain’t ? Goodness gracious ! see that tall thing 
caper ! ” as Ruth hops and skips, regardless of 
appearances and the weather. “Well, ’t won’t 
do her no hurt to get a little more color into her 
face. I ’m sure I wish the other one would hop, 
too ; but, if I ’m any judge o’ human natur’, she 
ain’t in a hoppin’ mood ; ” and Miss Bounce turns 

back to her kitchen, and proceeds to “do up ” the 
E 3* 


66 


NO GENTLEMEN.' 


(( 


dinner dishes, being speedily immersed in calcula^ 
tion as to whether or no Mandy Allen would hinder 
more than she ’d help, if engaged to divide the 
labor at the Red Farm, in the coming press of 
business. 

Meanwhile, Jean and Ruth wander around to 
the back of the house. 

‘‘There’s an orchard, Jean. I wish we knew 
where the pigs are, for of course there are pigs. 
It ’s great fun to feed them green apples.” 

“ There are n’t any as early as this,” says Jean, 
indifferently. 

“What — pigs? or apples? There’s a brook, 
any way. Who ’ll be the first down the hill ? ” and 
Ruth runs down the hillside, oblivious, until she 
reaches the brook, that Jean has not quickened her 
movements in the least. 

“ How tiresome,” muses Ruth — not, however, 
referring to the one-sided race. “What a lovely 
place this would be, if only Jean were herself, and 
did not allow that silly little experience to torment 
her. Jean,” she says aloud, as her friend ap- 
proaches, “those rooms are taken. Isn’t this a 
bewildering little brook ? ” 

“Yes; and judging by that rustic sofa, there 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


67 


wa« a time when this cosy little nook, under the 
hill, was more appreciated.” 

“Yes, the place must have fallen into sad disuse 
since Mademoiselle Bounce has been a man-hater,” 
assents Ruth. “ Sit down on the sofa in a languidly 
graceful position, and I will group myself behind 
you in a pose worthy of — ” 

“Apollo,” suggests Jean. 

“Yes, or of Yours Truly.” 

As Ruth speaks the careless words, she sees her 
companion’s face flush angrily, and hastens to cover 
her blunder. “What is that thing in the water, 
Jean ? Why, what are you doing ? ” for Jean has 
fallen on her knees beside the brook. 

“Catching a turtle,” replies Jean, lifting tne 
strufforling little creature out of the water. 

“ How can you bear to touch it ! ” 

“ What cleaner, prettier thing could I touch ? ” 
returns Jean, looking at the glossy black shell, 
dotted with gold, which lies in her hand with no 
more sign of life than a stone. “I used to play 
with turtles when I was a child, and I am going 
to do to this what I sometimes did to those old 
playmates.” 

“ What is that ? ” 


68 


“NO GENTLEMEN/ 


“ Carve the date upon the shell. Who knows 
how many Summers we may spend here, and how 
often we may see this very turtle. I know a lady 
who carved a name and date on a turtle’s shell, and 
who came across the same turtle, alive and well, 
twenty years afterward.” 

As she speaks, Jean takes a pen-knife from her 
pocket and begins to cut the date. Kuth, watching, 
exclaims : 

“O, you goosie ! I thought you were doing it 
wrong; you have cut ‘July 2d,’ and this is July 
3d ; but you can change it easily.” 

“Never mind, let it go,” says Jean, carelessly, 
placing the decorated turtle on the edge of the 
bank. “Just watch how slowly and cautiously it 
pokes its head out ; why, this carries me back 
ten years ! ” 

But the awkward swiftness of the animal (for a 
tortoise can be swift upon occasion, notwithstand- 
ing ^sop), as it sprawls and splashes into the 
water, is entirely lost upon Buth, who is wondering 
at the complete possession Jean’s sore little expe- 
rience has taken of her. 

“ What a pity it had not happened to me,” thinks 
Miss Exeter, as they turn and move up the hillside ; 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


69 


“ so slight a mortification would hardly have power 
to ruffle me ; much less would it drive me to com. 
memorating the day of its occurrence in tortoise, 
shell.” 

“ I hope Miss Bounce has not forgotten us in 
her afternoon siesta,” she says aloud. 

‘‘ Siesta ! Perish the thought in connection with 
our future landlady ; I doubt if she ever sleeps. 
O, dear ! who are you ? ” asks Jean, as a grinning 
face rises above the stone wall directly in front of 
the friends. 

‘‘I’m Jabe, I am, and you’re to come direhly ; 
she>said so ; ” the last three words with an emphatic 
nod which indicates that, with Jabe at least. Miss 
Bounce’s word is law. Jabe, with his shock of 
sandy hair, clean gingham shirt, and trowsers 
tucked into his boots, looks just what Aunt Allen 
has termed him, “ a kind of innocent.” 

“Positively, Jean, his teeth are clean,” says 
the irrepressible Ruth. 

“O, aint they, though!” exclaims the youth, 
mournfully. “It’s her fault; she’s continerly 
scrubbin’ and makin’ me scrub. She washed ’em 
for me once, and — wall, sence that I’ve done it 
myself ; ” and Jabe turns to the young ladies with 


70 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


9r 

a twinkle in his little gray eyes that does not accord 
with the inane grin. 

“I suppose she was very thorough,” says Euth. 

“I dunno ; mebbe she was ; any way, she most 
killed me. Air you cornin’ here to stay ? ” he ques- 
tions, gazing with undisguised admiration at his 
two companions. 

“ )¥e have not decided,” begins Jean, with dig- 
nity, when Euth interrupts. 

“ Perad venture we may, Jabe, unless you think 
Miss Bounce would be too hard upon us.” 

“Wall, no, I don’t think she will ; all you have 
to do is to brush your teeth, keep your hands clean, 
not stand on your head, and be on time at meals ; 
that’s what she’s most pertikeler about,” says Jabe, 
telling off the requirements upon his fingers, and 
clinging to his thumb in the hope of thinking of 
one more ; “ and I tell you what — ^her pancakes are 
lickin’ good.” 

“Ah! the table, you think, will suit?” ques- 
tions Euth, gravely. 

“Dunno any reason why it shouldn’t. One leg 
come off this Spring, but I tinkered it up till it was 
good as new. Oh, yes ; the table ” 

“Jabe!” calls Miss Bounce’s voice, speedily 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


71 


followed by her visible shape. “Do you want 
them ladies to miss the train ? I believe in my 
heart you do. Git around to the barn now, quick ! ” 

The boy obeys to the letter, and soon re-appears 
with the horse and open wagon, then stands grin- 
ning as the three drive off. Miss Bounce holding 
the reins, and Dolly, the meek old family horse, 
proving herself no exception to the rule, that all 
the adjuncts of Eed Farm are completely under 
its mistress’s thumb. 

On the road to the railway station, Jean and 
her hostess carry on a conversation, while Ruth 
sitting alone on the back seat, takes notes of the 
latter’s costume, preparatory to giving a graphic 
description of it to the other girls. A black silk 
mantilla covers the spinster’s shoulders, and upon 
her head is a large brown bonnet, while the display 
of neck is as generous as in her indoor costume. 

Jean’s equanimity is sorely tried by her appre- 
ciation of Ruth’s scrutiny, as she sits there, in 
a silence which is eloquent to her bosom friend. 

“There, you. see that small brown buildin’ ? 
That ’s the depot,” says Miss Hopeful, “ and ’t ain’t 
no very long walk from my place, although like 
enough it would seem so to you city folks ; but if 


72 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

any o’ you should come out to see the farm, unbe- 
knownst to me, the directions is simple : You only 
have to walk straight ahead till you come to that 
big elm we ’ve just passed, then angle to the right ” 
— here Miss Bounce gathers both reins into one 
hand and gives herself up to gesture — ‘‘that’ll 
lead to a short cut ; walk till you reach a stone 
wall ; climb over that, and then angle to the left 
and foller the foot-path ; that ’ll bring you to the 
creek — some call it a river — and there ’ll probably 
be a plank across it, but there are plenty o’ plaguy 
boys to carry it off.” 

“In that case,” says Ruth, “I suppose we 
should stop, and angle in the stream awhile.” 

“No, mum; in that case, you’d most likely 
have to go back an’ come around by the road. I 
got caught that way once myself.” 

“We shall not come without letting you know 
beforehand. Miss Bounce,” says Jean. 

“That’ll be the best way; an’ now, young 
ladies, here we are. There ’s a train due from the 
city now. I should n’t be a mite surprised if it 
brought my other applicants, the widder lady an’ 
her niece. Your train ’ll be here in three minutes.” 

Jean and Ruth dismount from the high wagon, 


HOPEFUL BOUNCE. 


73 


hoping to get a look at the expected strangers — for 
the “widow lady ” and her niece may make a differ- 
ence in their decision ; but the train from the city 
being late, the two trains meet at the station, and 
the young ladies have only an aggravating glimpse 
of a crape-covered figure descending from the op- 
posite car, and with her a tall gentleman, the sight 
of whom, albeit brief and unsatisfactory, causes 
the blood to surge into Jean’s clear, white face, 
and, receding, to leave it whiter than before. 

“How foolish I am,” she thinks. “Has that 
object of charity not injured me sufficiently, and 
am I to see him in every chance person I meet ? I 
will overcome this weakness.” 

“ The heat and general fatigue have tired you,” 
remarks her friend ; “ but I believe it is in a good 
cause, and that we have a Summer before us which 
shall be memorable ; ” and Ruth’s prophecy is des- 
tined to be fulfilled. 

4 


74 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 


CHAPTEK V. 

BED EAKM. 

“ Farewell, thou busy world ! ” 

“As usual, Miss Ivory is late,” remarks Ruth, 
as, with Mabel and Polly, she sits in the ladies’ 
waiting room of the Boston and Maine depot, on 
the morning of the start. 

The two latter young ladies have determined to 
try what Ruth has been honest enough to describe 
as the stupidity, rather than the quiet, of Miss 
Bounce’s homestead. 

“ If you can amuse yourselves, and like sweet 
smells, why come,” Ruth has said ; so here they 
are, wondering at their own willingness to spare a 
Summer from their lives, yet drawn by the powers 
ful example of their two leaders, one of whom is 
so tardy in making her appearance. Hardly, how- 
ever, have the words left Ruth’s lips, when Jean 
appears, arm in arm with Barbara, whose demure 
face is greeted with exceeding surprise, and whose 
quiet happiness shines forth from her gray eyes and 
sheds quite a new lustre upon the prospect. 


BED FARM. 


Y5 

‘‘You going, too, Barbara? Why, that makes 
the plan complete,” says Mabel ; while Kuth, 
as the friends have the waiting room to themselves, 
gives the new comers an appreciative squeeze 
apiece, and even Polly Gunther is warmed into 
sympathy with the “Mousie’s” pleasure. 

“ I was afraid you were going to be late, Jean,” 
says Ruth. 

“Should you have gone without me, if I had 
been ? ” 

“No, indeed ; I would not be so cruel as to de- 
prive you of the sight of Mab’s and Polly’s faces 
during the period of their transportation from Pine- 
land Centre to the Red Farm,” and Ruth and Jean 
exchange glances which considerably mystify the 
others of their party. 

“ I am sorry I left our rt)ute to you, Ruth,” says 
Jean ; “I might have known you could not resist 
making these girls — ” 

“ Unjust, as usual,” interrupts Ruth ; “it is my 
fate to be misunderstood by those I love the best ; ” 
then changing her lofty tone, “I found that it was 
this route or none, if we wished to go to Pineland 
in the morning, so I decided upon it.” 

“And very eagerly, I’m sure,” adds Jean. 


76 


“NO GENTLEMEN.' 


»> 


‘‘No insinuations. Now, young ladies, there 
are five minutes before we leap ; so do your last 
looking,” says Ruth, solemnly. 

“Jean, tell us,” asks Mabel, “why does Ruth 
always speak of Miss Bounce’s farm as though 
it were ‘that bourne from which no traveler 
returns ? ’ We haven’t signed papers binding us to 
stay if we don’t like it, and unless Miss Bounce 
has wild animals running about her door yard, I 
can not see why it should be a fearful undertaking 
to go there.” 

“Perhaps you will see plainer in an hour,” says 
Ruth, with a mischievous smile ; “but I see your 
minds are fully made up.” 

“And I think you will not regret it,” adds Jean. 

“ I am very sure of one who will not,” asserts 
Barbara, emphatically, as with her four stylishly- 
dressed companions she enters the car. 

To Ruth’s well concealed delight, this car may 
well have been the very one which made the trial 
trip on the first railroad ever laid out of Boston, so 
old-fashioned is it, with its large stove in the midst, 
and its small windows stationed with a total disre- 
gard of their relations to the seats; but, somewhat 
to Ruth’s disappointment, all the peculiarities of 


RED FARM. 


77 


their conveyance are taken in good part, and the 
merry party, albeit very quiet in their conversation 
and laughter, attract considerable notice from the 
other passengers. 

When their station is called, and the young ladies 
stand upon the platform, Kuth’s fondest hopes are 
realized, as she sees the incredulous look of horror 
gather upon MabePs and Polly’s countenances, 
when the Pineland stage is pointed out to them, 
and is quite content when she has managed that 
these two shall occupy the back seat of the con- 
veyance and have the strap buckled across in front 
of them. Dan, the driver, smiles affably upon 
Ruth, as he attends to the latter duty. 

“ Decided to board at the Red Farm, did ye ? ” 
he asks, not at all disturbed by the supercilious 
glance bestowed upon him by Miss Gunther, who 
sees nothing comical and every thing uncomfort- 
able in the position, but from whose dignity the 
strap certainly detracts. 

“Yes; and I hope you will take us there as 
quickly as possible,” returns Ruth, “ for it is grow- 
ing very warm. Jean, you and Barbara please sit 
against the strap, and I will ride backward and 
face you all.” 


78 . “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

This arrangement is carried out, and the stage 
starts up the glaring white street. 

Barbara laughs her low, little laugh : 

“Our class makes a very respectable load, 
doesn’t it? ” 

“ If the stage were half as respectable as the 
load, it would do very well,” remarks Mabel, while 
Polly preserves an injured silence. 

“Polly, there’s a train back to Boston in an 
hour,” says Ruth. “We will turn back and leave 
you, if you say the word.” 

“Indeed, we will not,” says Barbara, pacific- 
ally. “We couldn’t spare Polly at all, and we 
are going to have such a lovely time.” 

“Oh, don’t disturb Ruth,” remarks Polly; 
“this is the best part of the time to her, you 
know. ” 

Ruth’s eyes twinkle, and she sings softly : 

“ ‘ Do you want to know the sweetest girl 
That lives in this here place ? 

Oh, that’s my Polly ; she is so jolly ! 

God bless her heart and face.’ ” 

“Girls, behave!” orders Jean, imperiously. 
“Ruth, the driver seems rather taken with you. 
Couldn’t you induce him to hurry? I would 


RED FARM. 


79 


promise never to tell Mr. Bergh, if he should 
whip that white horse just a little. The poor old 
gray has to pull his companion and the stage too.” 

As the road leads away from the thickly settled 
town among green meadows and under arching 
willows, and the warm air turns sweet with faint 
odors, the spirits of the Summer boarders rise 
rapidly. 

“ By the way, girls, we forgot to tell you the 
most important fact of all : We met a young man 
at the Bed Farm.” As Ruth makes this astound- 
ing statement, she watches its effect on her audi- 
ence. Polly’s mood is still too suspicious to admit 
of her showing any interest ; but Mabel is all 
attention. 

“ Can it be possible,” she says ; “ but I suppose 
you are joking, Ruth, and it was some relative of 
Miss Bounce’s.” 

‘‘No, really.” 

“Fortunately, Ruth’s day is about over,” says 
Jean, “for we have reached our destination, and 
you will very soon know as much as she does.” 

As Jean speaks, the jolting stage enters the gap 
in the stone wall, and ascends the inclined plane 
which leads to the house. 


80 


“no gentlemen.” 

“How much prettier it is than you said? ” ex- 
claims Barbara. “ What beautiful elms ? ” 

Even as Barbara speaks, Jean notices that a 
hammock has been hung between two horse-chest- 
nut trees, and that a lady, lying therein, raises her- 
self cautiously to look at the lumbering vehicle, 
then sinks down again, while she continues her 
scrutiny through the meshes of the hammock. 

“Is that Miss Bounce?” inquires Mabel, curi- 
ously. 

“Ruth, please fancy our landlady lolling in a 
hammock ! ” exclaims Jean. “That, I imagine, is 
the widow.” 

As the stage stops by the piazza. Miss Bounce 
opens her front door and welcomes the young 
people — that is, she intends to welcome them, but 
she only says : 

“Good morning. Why didn’t you wait till 
afternoon and come by the other route ? ” 


THE OTHER APPLICANT. 


81 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE OTHER APPLICANT. 

What a perpetual disappointment is actual society. 

— Emerson. 

The young ladies have seen and approved of 
their rooms, have met the widow and her niece, 
and have done justice to a bountiful dinner. 

“Do you suppose Miss Bounce never intends 
us to use her parlor ? ” asks Mrs. Erwin, the 
widow, of Jean, in her softly complaining voice, 
as they rise from the table. “ Such a stufiy little 
place as it is, when it might be made really quite 
airy ; but I am so shy I can not make up my mind 
to take possession.” 

“I think we may do as we like here,” replies 
Jean, in her direct, unsmiling fashion, which forms 
so great a contrast to the indistinct, babyish utter- 
ance of the widow ; then she turns to the grim 
hostess. 

“It is more attractive indoors than out, at this 
hour,” she says; “may we make ourselves quite 

at home ? ” 

F 


82 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


»> 


‘‘Yes,” returns Miss Bounce, with a kind of 
resignation. It is a greater change than she has 
expected, to have the silence of Red Farm broken 
by gay young voices, and to give these girls free- 
dom to roam through her orderly domains, and 
the first efiect is more bewildering than pleasing to 
the lone woman. 

Jean leads the way into the dungeon of a 
parlor and opens tjie windows to the fragrant 
air. 

“Thank you. Miss Ivo’y, you are a real bene- 
factress,” murmurs Mrs. Erwin, who, it would 
seem, has never been able quite to master the 
letter r. 

“There is more breeze stirring to-day than yes- 
terday,” remarks Jean, pinning the muslin securely 
at the sides of the window, to exclude everything 
but air. Meanwhile, Ruth, Mabel, Polly, Barbara 
and the stranger, Nettie Dart, have formed a circle 
near another window, where conversation is kept 
up briskly. 

“lam glad your niece is not shy, Mrs. Erwin,” 
says Jean; “she is as easy with my friends as 
though she had known them all her life.” 

The widow makes a little gesture of despair. 


THE OTHER APPLICANT. 


83 


‘‘Do not mortify . me by referring to it, Miss 
Ivo’y ; Nettie is so wild.” 

Jean looks across at the plain young girl, with 
her bright eyes and pug nose, and thinking it very 
delightful to see her enjoying herself so thor- 
oughly, says so. 

“Of course it’s ve’y right for Nettie to enjoy 
herself,” returns the lady, with a sigh ; “the only ob- 
jection is that she thinks there never is a time when 
she ought not to enjoy herself. When she has done 
ve’y wrong, for instance, she never knows what it 
is to be at all subdued, but is always just as you 
see her now.” 

Jean still thinks that the way she sees her now 
is very pleasant, and can not help contrasting the 
bright face of the niece with the sallow counte- 
nance, with its large, prominent eyes and incipient 
Wrinkles, opposite her. 

“As I was telling my ve’y dear friend, Mr. 
Dart, the day we came here, it was no small self- 
denial for me to make up my mind to be buried in 
this place the most of the Summer, but some one 
had to take care of Nettie during her vacation, and 
there seemed to be no one else. Beside, just now 
it does n’t matter so much, as I should wish to be 


84 


“no gentlemen.” 

quiet at any rate through this season,” and Mrs. 
Erwin touches her sombre dress, while the little 
act dignifies her affected utterance, to Jean, and 
awakes the girl’s sorrow for that mother whose loss 
she never mourned in crape. To her amazement, 
Mrs. Erwin continues, in a business-like tone : 

“And another consolation is that this is so good 
a place to wear out old dresses. It ’s all ve’y well 
for those to whom black is becoming, to strain a 
point and wear it to the ve’y last minute, but it ’s 
different with me ; next Summer I shall not have 
a single black dress. I know I look badly in black, 
and am gradually lightening it now. I do n’t know 
as you noticed it, but this ribbon at my neck is 
lined with lavender ; and although I keep the color 
hidden now, I shall turn it out, one strand at a 
time, for I am so shy and sensitive by nature, that 
unless I get used to seeing myself in tints, I shall 
not like to put them on before my friends in the 
city. Nettie, Nettie,” continues the widow, raising 
her voice, “ Do not laugh so loud ; ” then to Jean, 
“I can not take her into society, with those gush- 
ing ways and that coarse laugh.” 

“ Into society ? that little girl ? ” questions 
Jean, in surprise. 


THE OTHER APPLICANT. 


85 


“Why, I don’t know what else to do. Mr. 
Dart thinks she ought to go to school four years 
yet ; but she is sixieen years old, and school influ- 
ences seem to make her worse and worse, and, 
after all, it is ever so much more necessary that 
Nettie should understand the figures of a cotilhon, 
than the figures of geometry.” 

“ Still, I suppose her father is the one to de- 
cide,” remarks Jean. 

“Her father? Nettie^ never saw him; and 
when her mother married again, she preferred to 
have her little girl take her second husband’s 
name ; but my poor sister died soon after her mar- 
riage with Mr. Dart. She was so pretty, I do not 
see how her daughter’s nose ever came to turn 
up ; ” and Mrs. Erwin gazes in sorrowful disap- 
proval at her unconscious niece. 

“Then I suppose her step-father defers to 
you,” begins Jean ; but the widow interrupts: 

“Oh, he is not living either. The Mr. Dart I 
referred to is his son, and a ve’y dear friend of 
mine. He is father to Nettie, just as I am mother 
to her — that is, we look after her, between us 
and a slow, dull color mounts to the speaker’s fore- 
head, while she runs her words together in a still 


86 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

more infantile manner, and plucks consciously at 
her onyx necklace. 

Jean is greatly bored, and looks longingly at 
the group formed by her school-mates and 
their new friend ; but escape is not possible at 
present. 

“What, Miss Ivo’y, do you suppose makes 
Miss Bounce so opposed to gentlemen ? ” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” returns Jean, ab- 
sently, trying to catch what anecdote Ruth is relat- 
ing to her audience. 

“Do you suppose she would object to our hav- 
ing occasional callers ? ” 

“There is a way of finding out.” 

“Yes, I know ; but I am so shy I do not like 
to ask her. Won’t you ask her. Miss Ivo’y ! I 
can see already that you have so much force.” 

“ But I do not expect callers, Mrs. Erwin ; my 
father may come to see me, and I certainly shall 
not ask permission to receive him. How absurd ! 
Pardon me, but you speak as though she were a 
kind of dragon ! ” 

“ I am glad if you do not feel that she is ; but I 
had the idea that when we came, we tacitly agreed 
to her odd notions. What is that, coming up the 


THE OTHER APPLICANT. 


8T 


drive ? It must be the wagon bringing your trunks, 
and I am so glad, for I know you will let me see 
you unpack, won’t you ? I am a perfect child about 
loving to see pretty things.” 

‘‘But she is a very precocious child about tak- 
ing patterns. Miss Ivory,” speaks Nettie Dart, 
who, with her companions, has drawn near to 
watch the approach of the express-wagon ; “so, if 
you have any thing particularly original, I advise 
you to keep it out of sight.” 

Mrs. Erwin’s slow color rises again : 

“If I begin begging pardon for my niece’s odi- 
ous behavior, it will take up so much of my time, 
that I should like to ask all of you young ladies in 
advance, to be lenient, hoping that your society 
will make a change for the better in her.” 

“You know I always said. Aunt Inez, that ex- 
ample is better than precept,” replies the girl, 
smilingly ; “ now that I am to see how a true lady 
should behave, there is no telling what I may 
become.” 

It is impossible to say whether or no Mrs. 
Erwin is prepared to reply to this outrageous 
speech, for Miss Bounce opens the door suddenly, 
but stops in the act of announcing the arrival of 


88 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 


the baggage, in sheer dismay at the scene in her 
sacred, best parlor. 

For a moment she says nothing, merely looking 
at the open windows, the muslin curtains loosened 
from their gimp confines, the chairs pulled out 
from the wall in social confusion, and, most hein- 
ous of all, a narrow strip of sunbght slanting 
across the carpet ; then she takes a long breath 
and exclaims : “ Sure ! ” 

“ I will attend to the expressman. Miss Bounce,” 
says Jean, divining her errand and her dismay, and 
the whole party leave the room, leaving Miss 
Hopeful to gaze about her upon the ruins. 

“Bed ain’t noways likely to fade, that’s one 
comfort,” she soliloquizes, “but this Summer’ll 
take a clean ten years’ wear off ’n this carpet. Why, 
under the sun, be you takin’ Summer boarders. 
Hopeful Bounce ? ” and as she asks this question 
she stoops to lift a crochetted tidy from the 
floor ; “and this is only the first day, too ; well, 
well, they do know how to make themselves to 
home.” 

“ It must be real pleasure to you. Miss Bounce, 
to have this bright, pretty room in use again,” says 
Jean, entering quietly. “ Shut up parlors get such 


THE OTHER APPLICANT 


89 


a close, disagreeable feeling ; still, we musn’t 
spoil your carpet. My man is coining out to- 
morrow,” — 

“ No gentlemen,” murmurs Miss Bounce, whom 
Jean’s address has bewildered slightly. 

“Well Sam is no gentleman,” says Jean, smil- 
ing in spite of herself ; “ he is coming out to bring 
two saddle horses for me, and I shall send by him 
for a linen covering for this carpet. 

“Well, I can’t gainsay you’re very kind. Miss 
Avery,” returns Hopeful, with a perceptible light- 
ening of the careworn look. “I was just thinkin’ 
I’d ben kind o’ ventur’some. I had rather a wear- 
in’ day, yisterday, with Mis’ Erwin ; she an’ the 
little girl fit, an’ she got histericky ; so to-day, 
when I come in ^n’ seen the carpet goin’, too, it 
onn me a diskerrid^ed turn. Not but what I’d ha’ 
stiffened up in a minute more, anyway. It would 
be the first time, if I should turn back now, after 
puttin’ my hand to the plow.” 

“Jean,” says Mabel, softly, suddenly entering 
the room, “do come and open your trunk ; Mrs. 
Erwin is just hovering over it and devouring it with 
her eyes. The other girls are unpacking, but she 
only gives an occasional glance at them. It is my 

4 * 


m 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


>* 


belief that she can see right through the lid of 
your trunk, and knows that your clothes are hand* 
somer than ours. ” 

“She will have an opportunity, then, to use her 
second-sight,” returns Jean, “for I shall not un- 
pack before her. Tell the girls to hurry and get 
through so we can go out to the orchard ; it is 
beautiful there.” 

This message Mabel calls from the foot of the 
stairs. 

“But Miss Ivo’y can not go without her shade 
hat, and that I suppose is in her trunk, ” remarks 
Mrs. Erwin, leaning over the banisters. 

“Perhaps Miss Bounce will lend me hers,” says 
Jean, with a questioning look at the mistress of 
the house. 

“I don’t use a hat, but you’re more’n welcome 
to my shaker,” returns Miss Bounce, shortly. 

Jean’s ideas of what a shaker may be are rather 
misty, but she accepts with thanks, and soon the 
straw bonnet with its gingham capeds leading the 
way to the orchard, side by side with Kuth’s orna- 
mental head gear. 

Directly behind the two friends walk Mabel, 
Nettie and Barbara, while the widow follows with 


THE OTHER APPLICANT. 


91 


Polly Gunther, whose airy manner has convinced 
Mrs. Erwin that she is socially eligible. 

“Let us all go to the village to-morrow morn- 
ing, and buy shakers like Jean’s,” suggests Euth ; 
“they protect the neck so nicely, and I’m sure 
mine will burn so red that no one can tell where 
my hair commences, if I don’t cover it up. Would 
n’t it be a lark for us all to file into the store to- 
gether ! ” 

“Almost too exciting,” murmurs Polly aatirb 
cally. “ Ruth can find amusement in such uninter- 
esting places and things. ” 

“And people, too ? ” asks Mrs. Erwin. 

Polly shakes her head. “I don’t know, she is 
a strange girl ; why, do you know, coming up in 
the stage, she insisted that there was a young gentle- 
man here,” finishes Miss Gunther, in whose mind 
this pleasing fancy has lingered. 

“She could not have been in earnest ; there is 
the only young gentleman on the place,” returns 
Mrs. Erwin, indicating Jabe, who is at a little dis- 
tance feeding the pigs, who are grunting and 
squealing in their sty under the barn. 

The boy turns and regards the party, and 
sends a nod and grin to Ruth, who nods back 


52 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


» 


again. Miss Gunther views the pantomime with 
scorn. 

“Miss Ivo’y has a ve’y peculiar manner, I 
think,” pursues Mrs. Erwin. 

“Heiresses are privileged to have unusual man- 
ners,” replies Polly ; “it is only we girls who have 
nothing who must beware how we behave.” 

“Then this is the Miss Ivo’y,” says the other, 
in a relieved tone ; “I thought it must be, for the 
name is not a common one. I have heard of her. 
How happy she ought to be with all that money ! 
She is coming out next Winter, they say. Do tell 
me, if it isn’t impertinent to ask, what brought 
you young ladies to this out-of-the-way place ? ” 

“We graduated together, this season,” explains 
Polly, with rather a disagreeable smile — “grad- 
uated from every thing but Miss Ivory’s rule ; and 
she and Kuth, deciding that we should want con- 
siderable strength next Winter, made up their 
minds to come here and start what they call a 
strength-bottling company.” 

“A ve’y good idea, Miss Gunther,” asserts the 
widow, with great interest; “you will not know 
how good, until you get fairly launched into soci- 
ety, and see what work it is. I shall be going back 


THE OTHER APPLICANT. 


93 


myself next Winter, in a quiet way,” continues 
the lady, eagerly. ‘‘Keceptions and lunch parties, 
in lavenders and grays, you know — but go on. I 
interrupted you.” 

“ I was only going to say that I hardly know 
just why Mabel and I came, unless it was in a 
spirit of toadying to Jean.” 

Mrs. Erwin is not nearly so surprised at this 
speech as is Polly at having made it, and the latter 
continues hurriedly : 

‘‘As for Barbara, of course she was only too 
thankful to go any where, at Jean’s expense so, 
here she is, and has no idea of looking a gift horse 
in the mouth.” 

Mrs. Erwin is greedy in her curiosity, and takes 
no note of Miss Gunther’s vanished affectation, 
or coarse jealousy. 

“Heiresses always have their hangers-on, you 
know,” she says. “I thought from Miss Waite’s 
appearance that she was not of your world,” and 
her speech is balm to Polly, whom nothing in her 
world afflicts to such an extent, as Jean’s tender 
regard for Barbara. 

“Yes, Barbara is very poor, I believe. Wo 
call her Mousie, sometimes, she is so small and 


94 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

silent. Church - Mousie would be more appropri- 
ate.” 

The widow throws back her head and laughs at 
this witticism. She is in a pleasant mood and could 
laugh at any thing. She has come to this lonely 
spot to oblige her very dear friend, to take care of 
her niece, and to wear out her old dresses ; and be- 
hold, for companions she has several young ladies, 
among whom she feels younger than ever, and, 
more than all, here is the opportunity to cultivate 
an intimacy with Miss Ivory, whose acquaintance 
will be so desirable in the coming Winter. 

“I’m afraid you are ve’y sarcastic. Miss Gun- 
ther,” she says, as they join the others at the 
gap in the orchard waU. 

“There, isn’t that a charming hill-side?” asks 
Euth. 

“ Yes ; but are we going into that long grass? ” 
asks Mrs. Erwin, timorously. “It looks so sug- 
gestive of snakes.” 

“It does to me, too. Aunt Inez,” assents Nettie, 
jumping through the gap into the orchard ; “and, 
beside, we are going down to a brook that has 
turtles in it, and you are afraid of turtles, you 
know. I would n’t come.” 


THE OTHER APPLICANT. 


95 


‘‘Are you afraid of turtles, too, Miss Ivo’y?” 
asks the widow, passing over her niece’s advice as 
unconsciously as possible. “They are such ugly 
creatures ! ” 

“No, indeed ; Miss Ivory likes them ; she said 
so,” interposes Nettie. 

‘‘ Nettie, your rudeness to me I can bear ; but 
be good enough to let Miss Ivo’y give her own 
replies,” speaks Mrs. Erwin, and her rebuke 
would be dignified were it not for the vanish- 
ing consonant which alters Jean’s name to that 
of a vine, and robs the other words correspond- 
ingly. 

“I think I can ensure your safety against rep- 
tiles, Mrs. Erwin,” says Jean, stifily. “Will you 
not come with us ? ” and the widow smilingly 
assents, slipping her little arm through Jean’s 
round, firm one, much against the latter young 
lady’s will. 

“Kuth,” she says to her friend, that evening, 
the last thing before retiring, “ there is a worse 
objection than the stage -ride, to spending a Sum- 
mer at the Red Farm.” 

“ You mean the widow and her niece.” 

“ Yes ; the one is flippant and shallow ; the 


96 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


other, flippant and heartless. We are thrown with 
them, and they are disposed to be very intimate. 
Now, Emerson says ” 

“Jean, for mercy’s sake, don’t!” exclaims 
Kuth, in dismay, her hair-brush suspended in air 
and her hair glinting in the lamplight, as she turns 
suddenly upon her friend: “That very thought 
passed through my mind to- day. I thought : 

‘ What shall we all do if Jean insists upon being 
Emersonian ? ’ Now, inclination and Emerson 
would both have you treat those two people 
like ” 

“Kuth, Emerson ” 

“Yes, I know all about it, appearing what you 
are, and being what you appear, and the grandeur 
of sincerity. I love to read it almost as well as 
you do, and feel as exalted as any thing when I 
get through, but the plain facts are these : If when 
you can not avoid being with Mrs. Erwin, you treat 
her as you honestly feel, either we or she will have 
to go back to Boston in a week. Mark my 
words ! ” 

“Then all is, you must constitute yourself a 
watch to see that she does not try me too far, and 
to warn me in time ; for I am sure I shall say or 


THE OTHER APPLICANT 


97 


do something definitely disagreeable to one of that 
couple before many days,” and speaking firmly, 
Jean gathers up some trifles of her belonging, and 
bidding her friend good night, crosses the hall to 
her own room. 

G 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


(y6 


CHAPTER Vn. 

AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 

“ But fortune, like some others of her sex, 

Delights in tantalizing and tormenting.” 

A week slips away at the farm, pleasantly but 
for the uncomfortable relations between Mrs. Erwin 
and her niece, a young girl who seems to reserve 
her disagreeable side solely for this aunt, whose atti- 
tude toward her is a curious mixture of fear and 
patronizing rebuke. 

To Barbara Waite the days bring unclouded 
pleasure, for Jean’s care and thought for her are 
untiring. 

Sam comes, bringing the horses, and makes a 
second trip with the five hammocks and the linen 
covering for the parlor carpet. 

“ She might have sent for a horse apiece for us, 
as well as not,” grumbles Polly Gunther, in Mrs. 
Erwin’s sympathetic ear, as they alone swing in 
the hammocks under the horse-chestnuts. “I do 
believe she ordered all these hammocks only that 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 99 

there might always be sure to be one at Barbara’s 
disposal. ” 

“ She does seem more like a mother to that girl 
than any thing else,” assents the widow ; “ it is a 
strange whim.” 

“Especially, as Barbara is actually older than 
Jean, for all her white little face and dependent 
ways,” adds Polly. 

“I do dislike to see a woman try to appear 
younger than she really is,” asserts Mrs. Erwin. 

“ ‘ Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us 
To see oursel’s as others see us ! ’ ” 

sings Ruth, emerging from the house and coming 
toward the hammocks ; and Polly can not repress 
a smile, although she is very chary of smiles since 
coming to the country, having never relinquished 
for long at a time the injured look which settled 
upon her countenance in the Pineland stage, while 
her friends expect every day to hear from her lips 
the determination to leave the uncongenial precincts 
of Red Farm ; but she avows no such intention as 
yet, the fact being that the atmosphere in which 
Jean lives, moves and has her being, is full of at- 
traction to Miss Gunther, and the only change 
needed to make the wilderness of the isolated farm 


100 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

blossom as the rose, is that the heiress should trans- 
fer her delicate attentions and loving care from the 
insignificant future school-mistress to the equally 
needy and far more charming Polly Gunther. 

‘‘I never saw a more indefatigable strength- 
bottler than you are, Polly,” observes Kuth ; “I 
haven’t seen you use a particle of strength since 
you arrived.” 

“If I knew any pleasant way of using my 
strength I should be only too happy,” replies Polly. 

“Why, there are plenty of ways. I have or- 
dered two sets of croquet, which will arrive this 
afternoon, and that will give us one more di- 
version.” 

“ I wonder you didn’t order your saddle horse 
instead. Horse-back riding is the one thing that 
would be pleasant here.” 

“I haven’t one, my dear. I haven’t been at 
home enough to make it an object, and my father 
would no more allow me to use a strange horse, as 

Jean does, than he would ” and Kuth fintshaa 

with a gesture.” 

“Why, I supposed those beautiful creatures of 
Miss Ivo’y’s were old pets, by the way she treats 
them,” says Mrs. Erwin. 


-aN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


101 


‘‘No, indeed,” responds Ruth, “but Jean has 
only to say, ‘ Father, please get me so and so,’ and 
Mr. Ivory claps his hat on the back of his head, 
flings his overcoat over his arm, and rushes down 
town to buy so and so, and no questions asked.” 

“ What a desirable father to have,” groans Miss 
Gunther. 

“What a desirable daughter, you had better 
say,” remarks Ruth ; “ it is all Mr. Ivory’s reliance 
on his daughter’s admirable character and common 
sense that causes the state of things,” but even as 
Ruth speaks, she is obliged to smile at the remem- 
brance of the recent occasion when Jean’s common 
sense had not stood her in good stead ; for, try as 
she may, Ruth can not regard that misdirected 
charity in the light of a tragedy. 

“Ruth,” says Polly, “you are freckling dread- 
fully all across your nose and the upper part of 
your cheeks.” 

“I know it,” returns Ruth, drawing a small 
mirror from her pocket and investigating her coun- 
tenance with a frown ; “just imagine with what 
gratitude I recall the italics at the foot of Miss 
Bounce’s advertisement, ‘iVo gentlemen,'' ” 

“You are fortunate, if you can recall it with 


102 


NO GENTLEMEN.” 

gratitude,” says the widow, mournfully, “but if 
you had a ve’y dear friend that you were anxious 
to see, you might not be so grateful.” 

“ It is too bad,” assents Polly, who has evidently 
been let into all the particulars concerning Mrs. 
Erwin’s dear friend. 

“ I didn’t get my shaker any too soon,” muses 
Ruth, aloud, still inspecting the fine, white com- 
plexion that accompanies hair like hers. “ By the 
way, you know I had no one but Miss Bounce to 
go with me to the village this morning ; so, as I 
could not overcome the store - keeper with a 
number of beautiful young women, I overcame 
him with the number of shakers I bought. They 
are lying in a pyramid in the upper hall, so 
any one that fears for her complexion may help 
herself” 

“Thanks, you are ve’y thoughtful,” returns 
Mrs. Erwin, “but I’m afraid it would be hardly 
dignified for me to wear such a thing.” 

“Why, certainly it would,” says Ruth, inno- 
cently; “women ever so much older than you, 
wear them in the country.” 

“I mean on account of my mourning, of 
course,” returns Mrs. Erwin, highly ofiended. 


UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 103 

while Polly gathers the edges of the hammock 
over her face and begins to swing. 

To Ruth’s relief, a diversion is formed at this 
juncture by the arrival of her friends. 

‘‘This grove, with the hammocks, looks very 
pretty, ” says Jean, “but I have come to see if I 
can tempt you away from it, Mrs. Erwin. Would 
you enjoy riding with Barbara, in my place, this 
afternoon ? ” 

“Thank you. Miss Ivo’y, you are more than 
kind ; I wish I could accept your offer, but I do 
not ride.” 

“She is shy, you know,” explains Nettie, “and 
that makes the horse shy, and ” 

“We will have another session for wit, if you 
please. Miss Dart,” interrupts Jean, coldly ; “time 
is flying, and it is cool enough to-day to ride earlier 
than usual ; will you go, Polly ? Mabel went 
yesterday. ” 

“O, yes, if Mabel, Nettie, Ruth and Mrs. Er- 
win do not care for it, and you are sure I am not 
robbing any one, I am so 'iiery fond of riding that 
I will go. ” 

“Jean,” says Barbara, in a low voice, “please 
let some one go in my place to-day ; I am being a 


104 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’' 

real monopolist, and I should enjoy lying in the 
hammock and resting instead. ” 

“ Kesting? ” asks Jean, quickly, “ are you tired 
to - day, Barbara ? ” 

“O, no, not tired,” replies the girl, raising her 
delicate face to Jean’s with still greater entreaty ; 
“lam only lazy, and willing to lie down a great 
deal, and waste a great deal of time.” 

“No, I think you must take your ride,” says 
Jean, after a minute’s thought. “ Don’t let her go 
too far, Polly ; then, when you have brought her 
back, perhaps Nettie will take her place, and you 
can go farther.” 

“No, indeed; I’ll take no favor from you!” 
exclaims Nettie, hotly. 

“Very well,” assents Jean, simply, with an ex- 
pression of face which Ruth decides is strictly 
Emersonian. 

“And I have my designs on you, Jean,” says 
Miss Exeter ; “ you and I must go and explore.” 

“With all my heart.” 

“ And we must dress for it. I’ll not take you in 
that skim -milk colored organdy.” 

“ Of course not. Polly, Barbara knows where 
iny habit is ; I think it will fit you very well,” and 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


105 


BO saying, Jean links her arm in Ruth’s, and they 
proceed around the house to the kitchen, where sits 
a fat, good natured personage, whom the girls re- 
member at once as “Aunt Allen.” 

“Yes, indeed, I recognize ’eih,” she says, rising 
as Miss Bounce introduces her boarders, “and I’m 
glad for all hands that you decided to come.” 

Then, while Ruth completely wins the old lady’s 
heart, by an unaffected interest in herself and her 
daughter Mandy, who is Miss Bounce’s help, Jean 
takes her hostess aside. 

“Miss Bounce, will you see that Miss Waite 
lies down, when she returns from her horseback 
ride ? ” 

“ Certain, I will. Don’t you fret. Miss Avery ! ” 
this admonition, moTe as a piece of general advice 
than in relation to the present question. 

“Why should I fret?” asks Jean, with elab- 
orate nonchalance. 

“ H ’m ! ” ejaculates Miss Hopeful. 

“What do you mean by that? ” asks the girl, 
sharply. 

“ Not a thing. Miss Avery. I hain’t any call to 
mean any thing. I’ll remind Miss Waite, the 
minute she comes in, that she ’d best lay down.” 


106 “ NO gentlemen/’ 

“Tell her that is the way to make riding bene- 
ficial — to rest after it.” 

“I will, Miss Avery.” 

Fifteen minutes afterward, two country girls 
emerge from the farm-house, and their best friends 
would not recognize in the gingham-clad figures, 
wearing shaker bonnets, Jean Ivory and Ruth 
Exeter. 

“Now, I think our best way will be to climb 
through the bars at the end of that lane, and then 
‘ angle ’ to the right or left, just whichever looks 
most promising,” remarks the latter. “This is 
the very first time since we have been here, that I 
have had you all to myself, Jean, and I am going 
to enjoy it to the utmost. What a good thing it is 
that I am not of a jealous temperament. I think 
I should detest Barbara, if I were.” 

“What a good thing that you have a slight 
share of common sense, you mean, Ruth.” 

They slip easily through the bars, taking off the 
long bonnets for the purpose, and soon enter a 
narrow path, which leads through pine woods. 

“Oh, is it not good to be here!” exclaims 
Ruth, dropping her light tone and taking deep 
breaths of the fragrant air. 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. lOf 

“Good for all, but Barbara,” replies Jean, 
shortly. 

“ Can it be possible that you are worrying about 
Barbara ? ” asks Buth in great surprise. 

“Yes. Am I foolish?” and the troubled dark 
eyes look wistfully into Ruth’s, as the two friends 
walk slowly in the shade of the pines, the ugly 
bonnets swinging from their hands. 

“At school, we were all accustomed to the fact 
that Barbara was pale, and never minded the circles 
under her eyes, or the uncomfortable cough, just 
because she ignored them ; but when I called at 
her house to get her mother’s permission that I 
should bring her here, a veil seemed to fall from 
my sight, and I knew that the poor little mothet 
who has denied herself every thing to give Barbara 
her education, was troubled and frightened about 
her. If you could have seen, Ruth, how eagerly 
Mrs. Waite accepted my invitation, and the strange 
look in her eyes whenever she glanced at B., you 
would not wonder that I carry her on my heart all 
the time.” 

“And to some purpose,” adds Ruth, heartily. 
'‘This life is the very thing for her.” 

“ But does it seem to be ? Is n’t she in the same 


108 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 




condition as when we first came 1 ” asks Jean, woe« 
fully. “I would have a doctor examine her, only 
that I fear frightening her.” 

“Do not think of such a thing. You and 
Nature will be the best doctors. Of course, there 
is no change yet. It is unreasonable to expect 
it.” 

“Is it? ” asks Jean, as eagerly as though Kuth 
were an oracle. 

“Why, of course,” returns the other, within- 
creasing confidence, “this freedom from confine-* 
ment and care, and easy exercise, are bound to 
make such a change in little B., that you will take 
her home to her mother in triumph, in a few 
weeks.” 

“Oh, Ruth, what a good friend you are ! ” ex 
claims Jean, in the relief of her comforted heart, 
and although she says no more, the light in hei 
handsome face and the ring of content in her voice 
reward her companion richly. 

“ Here is some ‘ patridge bush ’ — Miss Hopeful 
said it was,” says Ruth, stooping and picking the 
tenderest of the shining green leaves, and handing 
half the bunch to Jean. “ Now I think our get-up 
is complete. Put on your shaker and go to chew- 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


109 . 


ing ‘patridge bush,’ and you will be a real village 
maiden.” 

Jean looks down at her plaid gingham dress, 
and laughs as she puts on the bonnet. 

“ As you are guide, Kuth, perhaps you ’ll tell me 
what we are to do with this stone wall ahead of us.” 

“Climb it, I fear. Miss Ivory. No ; here is a 
gap. I find they do have gaps, as a rule. My 
suspicion is that we are on the very path which 
Miss Bounce described as a short cut to the ‘depott’; 
and if so, we shall come to the stream. Oh, what 
a beautiful word — stream! I am so thirsty. Yes, 
there it is ! How it glimmers through the trees ! 
Jean, we are two children in a fairy story, and we 
are coming to an enchanted stream, of which we 
have been commanded not to drink ; but over- 
powered by thirst, we disobey and do drink, and a 
dreadful voice speaks, and — and something awful 
happens to us.” 

Nothing but the gurgling of the narrow river 
breaks the silence, as laughingly the two friends 
run to the bank, and falling to their knees, scoop 
up the water in their hands. 

Hardly has it touched their lips, when a man’s 
Voice speaks sharply : 


11 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


“ Be careful. You ’ll frighten the fish ! ” 

Jean starts, and Kuth gives a little scream, and 
pushing back her bonnet until it rests on the edge 
of her hair, looks in the direction of the voice. 

It has proceeded from very near them, where 
sits a man, a gentleman, evidently, wearing a broad 
hat, and fishing. 

At the sight of two women, he has given a de- 
cided start, then an involuntary smile, as he pic- 
tured the absurdity of discovering women he knew, 
and especially the particular woman of whom he 
is thinking, in such a garb as those before him. 
Then came the splash of hands in the water, and 
his quick, selfish warning. < 

His voice thrills through Jean, bringing with 
it vaguely painful associations, which she places 
quickly enough, as she stands upright, motionless 
with surprise, and thankful for the deep bonnet 
which renders her face invisible. 

‘‘Pardon me, if I startled you,” says the gentle- 
man, easily, addressing Ruth, and wondering at 
her pretty, fair complexion, “but it is not to be 
wondered at, if she always shades it with that 
affair,” he remarks, mentally, as he scrutinizes the 
shaker hanging by its strings about the girl’s neck. 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTKE. 


Ill 


Ruth returns his scrutiny, at first in alarm, then, 
seeing that the stranger is not a tramp, indig- 
nantly. 

“Of course you startled us,” she replies, with 
spirit, while Jean whispers anxiously, 

“ Come away ; do not speak to him.” 

“Of course we’re going, Jean; but not back 
to the house,” returns Ruth, sotto voce, 

“ My only excuse is that I had had my first bite 
just before you made your appearance, and my ex- 
citement was at its height. ” 

As the gentleman speaks, he moves slowly up 
and down the bank, his eyes on his line. 

“I believe your fishing is considered good,” he 
continues, conversationally, “ I wish I could find 
it so.” 

Ruth’s eyes sparkle. ‘ ‘ He takes us for natives, ” 
she thinks, and regardless of the peremptory pulls 
which Jean gives her sleeve, she places her arms 
a-kimbo. 

“The city folks find it first rate, as a usual 
thing,” she replies. “This is a trout stream, you 
know ; maybe you ’re tryin’ for somethin’ else.” 

“I’m fishing for trout, but I ’ll take any thing 
Vith fins,” replies the^strangor. “ It is n’t the best 


112 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

season for fishing, I know, but I have heard some 
wonderful stories about this little river, and have 
had it on my mind for some time to try it ; so night 
before last I came up from the city, and I think I 
may say hereafter that I have tried it.” 

“You mustn’t be too easy discouraged,” re- 
sponds Ruth ; then, yielding to the imperative pulls 
at her sleeve, 

“Do you know whether we can get across the 
creek ? ” 

“Yes, just this side of the waterfall,” replies 
the gentleman, still without taking a second glance 
at the young ladies. 

“In which direction, please?” asks Ruth, of 
necessity, but feeling that she is betraying her 
strangeness. 

At this, the gentleman does turn and glance for 
a moment at the bright looking young woman with 
the red hair; then stooping and fixing the rod 
firmly beneath a rock, 

“ I will show you,” he says. 

Ruth and Jean follow the other’s easy move- 
ments, but coming to the spot where the plank 
ought to be, no plank is there. For a minute theii 
guide looks puzzled. 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


113 


“I certainly crossed on a plank at this point a 
few hours ago,” he says ; ‘‘it has been moved, but 
it can not be far off,” and turning suddenly to 
search for the missing board, the gentleman unin- 
tentionally takes a fair look into Jean’s face, and 
pauses a moment too much surprised to move. 

It is. an unpleasant expression which he meets 
in the depths of the shaker bonnet. The eyes are 
black with excitement and repugnance, while the 
face contradicts their fire in its cold pride and con- 
tempt. It is only a moment, and he has recovered 
himself and moved on ; but all his searching 
proves vain. 

“I am sorry to say that unless the plank has 
sailed over the waterfall, it is lost on the opposite 
bank. It is quite possible, however, for you both 
to cross on the stepping stones, if you will accept 
my assistance.” 

Ruth looks at her new acquaintance in surprise. 
What can have caused the change in his address, 
the sudden access of deference in his tones ! 

“It is getting late, Ruth,” speaks Jean, in her 
low voice, “we can go farther another day ; let us 
go back to the house.” 

“ Don’t be faint hearted, Jean, or if you are, let 
H 5* 


114 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

US be ‘ faint, yet pursuing,’ for I am anxious to go 
home by the road,” says Kuth, and putting her 
hand in that of the fisherman, she steps daintily 
and safely across, on the rocks which lie half out 
of the whirling water. 

Jean, following, simply ignores the offered hand, 
and, looking neither to the right nor to the left, 
commences the journey in safety, the stalwart 
figure of the unknown managing to keep abreast 
of her, by all sorts of awkward jumps and strides. 

Half way across, her foot slips, and she is pre- 
served from a complete fall by a firm grasp on her 
arm, and reaches the other shore with one very 
wet foot and a heart full of uncharitableness. 

“ Thank you very much,” says Euth, with her 
jerky, little company-manner, having decided that 
the fisherman’s change of tone is owing to the dis- 
covery that Jean and herself are of his own caste. 

He raises his hat, and retraces his steps across 
the stones, while the girls continue their walk. 

“An adventure ! ” exclaims Euth, “an advent- 
ure in these charmingly lonely w^oods ! What a 
strange effect, to come upon that handsome man so 
suddenly, and have him snap at us — really snap at 
us ! Imagine the difference, had we met in the 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


115 


drawing-room — long gloves and silk ; button-hole 
bouquet and broadcloth. ‘ Ah, Miss Exeter ; ’ ’m, 

‘ Mr. ’ — I wonder what his name is ; don’t you, 

Jean?” 

‘‘No, indeed, I do not. I never felt less curi- 
osity ; ” and Jean brushes the gingham sleeve that 
has suffered the strangers touch. 

“And you never had worse manners either, my 
dear. There is such a thing as being too reserved 
and proud with strangers.” 

“Then you have nothing to^ reproach yourself 
with,” observes Jean. 

“ No ; and I ’m very glad of it. I feel refreshed 
after exchanging a few words with a gentleman.” 

“What makes you think he is one? ” 

“ ‘ Think he is one ? ’ ” repeats Kuth ; “I know 
he is one, and so do you.” 

“On the contrary, I know he is not one,” re- 
turns Jean, slowly and quietly. 

“ Well, you are the most critical girl I ever 
knew. What did he do to offend? When you 
were so silly and prudish, and would n’t allow him 
to help you, did he not behave well? And, oh, 
you do not know how comical you looked, balanc- 
ing along alone ; even he could not help smiling 


116 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


when you slipped ; ” and Ruth laughs contagiously, 
supremely unconscious of the storm brewing near 
her. 

“Oh! he laughed, did he?” asks Jean, speak- 
ing still more quietly. 

“ Of course ! How could he help it? This is 
the way you went,” and Ruth swings her arms in 
exaggerated imitation. “These suits make us look 
so ridiculous, you know. I’m sorry he did not 
have good luck fishing, for if he had, he might 
have stayed here weeks, and who knows but what 
Miss Bounce miglit relent, and take him. What 
an acquisition ! Can you not hear Mrs. Erwin talk 
baby-talk to him, and see her roll up those big 
eyes ? I ’ll warrant she would forget her ve’y dear 
friend in less than a week’s contemplation of those 
dark eyes and that clean, fair face. Why, Jean, 
what is the matter ? ” for Jean has sat down on a 
grassy knoll and covering her already shaded face 
with her hands, shakes all over without making 
a sound. 

“Look up, for pity’s sake, Jean. You could n’t 
have minded what I said about your crossing on 
the stones ? Our friend might have been biting his 
moustache when I thought he was smiling. Now, 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


117 


I think of it, I ’m sure he was ; hut of course the 
situation seemed laughable to me, for in the only 
glimpse I caught of your face, you looked so stern 
and angry, and he was jumping around so ! Do 
look up, Jean.” 

Jean looks up — her face so grave, she can not 
have been laughing ! her eyes so dry, she can not 
have been crying. 

“Appearing ridiculous before gentlemen, is 
getting to be my rdle^'^ she says, calmly, “ and one 
can get used to any thing ; ” which trite remark 
changes the current of Ruth’s thoughts, and gives 
her a startling idea. 

“Jean, ” she exclaims, “that man is never — - 
I mean — ” she hesitates — something in the ex> 
pression of her friend’s face warning her from the 
forbidden subject. “Perhaps you have met him 
before ? ” 

“Never,” says Jean, intentionally misconstru 
ing her friend’s meaning; “but as I am not as 
overcome by his personal advantages as you, per- 
haps you will change the subject, and let us go 
home as quick as we can, for, according to Miss 
Bounce, we have a long walk before us.” 

“ Yes ; for city folks,” adds good-natured Ruth, 


118 “no gentlemen.” 

her suspicions allayed ; and Jean’s whims not being 
numerous, she can afford to respect them, and so 
converses on such safe subjects as pedestrianism 
and pedometers, until, emerging into the road at 
the landmark of the elm which Miss Bounce has 
pointed out to them, the two friends meet Jabe in 
the open wagon, on his way home from the village. 

“You may call yourselves lucky,” he remarks, 
cheerfully, bringing Dolly to a stand -still, while 
the young ladies get into the wagon. “It’s a 
long walk up the road.” 

“I’m afraid you’re lazy, Jabe,” says Ruth, as 
the horse starts. “Miss Bounce does n’t call it 
a long walk.” 

“Wa-al, she’s made o’ steel springs, so it 
stands to reason she shouldn’t mind it. Still, I 
did n’t go for to make you ride, if you ’re hank- 
erin’ to walk ; ” and the ever - grinning Jabe 
brings Dolly to another stop. 

“Jabe, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” 
says Ruth, standing up and touching the patient 
horse with the whip, leaning over the front seat 
to accomplish the feat. 

“My orders is not to whip the boss,” says 
Jabe, as they start. 


AN UNEXPECTED KENCONTRE. 


119 


“ Very likely,” returns Ruth; “but the disci- 
pline here is not nearly severe enough. Why, 
what do you think ! I just now found a man 
in the woods, over there, poaching on Miss 
Bounce’s preserves.” 

“Poachin’ ? That’s stealin’, ain’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Git aout,” returns Jabe, highly entertained. 
“ She don’t keep no preserves down there. Ye’ 
can’t fool me.” 

Ruth laughs, and Jean says in a low tone : 

“ I would not speak of your stranger, at home, 
Ruth.” 

“Trust me for that,” says Ruth, knowingly. 
“Do you think I wish to sustain a fire of cross- 
questioning from Mrs. Erwin and Polly? They 
would scour the country for the poor, lone fisher- 
man. No ; I will give him time to get safely 
away. And speaking of Mrs. Erwin, Jean, you 
certainly deserve credit for the way you have 
treated the widow and her niece. I have watched 
you.” 

“ There is no credit due me at all. Mrs. Erwin 
fe very inofiensive, as a rule, and it is easy to 
ignore that ill-bred child. Poor little thing ! I 


120 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

wonder she does not begin to perceive how badly 
she behaves. I long to see Barbara,” continues 
Jean, as they draw near the house, “ and know 
how she is feeling.” 

On entering the shaded parlor, the friends find 
Barbara lying on the horse - hair sofa, and made 
comfortable by pillows. 

“No wonder you are surprised to see me 
here,” she says, smilingly. “I assure you, Jean, 
Miss Bounce is not nearly so grim as she seems. 
Why, she brought these pillows of her own accord, 
and insisted upon my lying here, because it is 
cooler than up -stairs.” 

“ Miss Bounce is a good, sincere woman, and 
you are the young lady to bring the best out of 
her. Miss Waite,” responds Jean, laying her 
hand for a moment on Barbara’s forehead, while 
the more exuberant Ruth stoops and kisses her. 

“We have been having a beautiful walk in the 
woods, Mousie, searching for natural curiosities.” 

“That is good. Did you find any?” 

“ One very handsome animalcule — only one — 
and that we did not bring home.” 

“ Ruth is talking nonsense — the only thing she 
is capable of talking. We had a nice walk, thoujgrh. 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONIRE. 


121 


You must go with us, some time, and see how 
pleasant the woods are. How was your ride ? ” 

“Better than usual, Jean. I never had any 
thing do me so much good. I feel better, to - day, 
than I have for a year.” 

“You blessed little Barbara!” exclaims Jean, 
in a low voice ; then, turning away ; “ I am going 
up stairs to change my dress for tea.” 

“Let me come with you,” begins Barbara, rising. 

“No; I forbid it,” returns Jean, with an im- 
perative gesture. “ Lie where you are, until the 
bell rings, Mousie.” 

So Barbara obeys, and Jean goes up to her 
room, relieved, for the first time, from that sicken- 
ing and exaggerated dread for her gentle little 
school friend ; and, were it not for the startling 
rencontre of to - day, her cup of happiness would 
be brimming over. 

Entering her room, she moves to the window 
and opens the blinds — shades, there are none — 
and proceeds to make her toilet. 

There is a sleepy twitter of birds outside, in the 
old elm, whose spreading branches come so near 
to intruding within her window. The hoarse click, 

rather than ring, of the cow -bells, and the unceas- 

6 ♦ 


122 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 




ing chorus of frogs, tree-toads and crickets, sound 
nearer and louder than usual, in the quiet of the 
coming evening. Suddenly, while Jean is devoting 
breathless care to the number of hairs which shall 
be allowed to fall over her forehead, a long - drawn 
sigh startles her. She looks about, but sees no one. 

“ Who is there ? ” she exclaims. 

For answef, Nettie Dart comes slowly out of the 
closet, the door of which has been standing ajar. 

“Oh, dear ! now I’ve frightened you, and that 
makes it worse than ever,” says the girl, ruefully. 

Jean does not answer, but turns back to the 
glass, with no sign of consciousness that the room 
has another occupant. 

Nettie looks at her a minute, wistfully, with 
heightened color, then moving slowly to the door, 
pauses with her hand upon the handle. 

“You do not think I intended to frighten 
you ? ” she says in a strangely humble tone. 

“I really do not know why you were in my 
closet, else ; but you have done no harm — as yet.” 

The younger girl is hardly so dull as not to 
understand the cold significance of Jean’s words. 
Still, she does not go, but stands, with an irreso- 
lute, pained, expression, which, it is easy to see, is 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


323 


new to the bright, plain face ; then, in what she 
strives to make a voice as haughty as Miss Ivory s 
own, she says, drawing herself up : 

“I came to apologize to you ; but you make it 
very difficult for me.” 

“Your errand is a strange one, and strangely 
conducted, then. You have nothing to apologize 
to me for, and — and I am in a great hurry. Miss 
Nettie.” 

Jean’s voice is like a wet blanket to Nettie’s 
effort at indignation. Its unfeigned indifference 
hurts the impulsive girl far more than coldness, 
and Jean is unpleasantly surprised to see her sink 
into a chair and burst into a flood of tears. 

She stands, regarding the sobbing girl, with but 
one feeling uppermost — that of being intensely 
bored ; then, as there seems no sign of the storm’s 
clearing, she moves to the closet, and, taking a 
dress therefrom, proceeds with her toilet in perfect 
silence. 

“ What an — what an iceberg you are ! ” sobs 
Nettie, disconsolately. 

Jean takes a pin from her mouth, and pins a 
lace tie at her throat, while silence reigns, except 
for the slowly lessening sobs. 


124 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“I suppose you think I am doing all this for 
effect ? ” comes again in stifled accents from behind 
Nettie’s handkerchief. 

“I think you will attract considerable attention 
at the supper table,” observes Jean, composedly. 
“I advise you to bathe your face, and use some 
Florida water. You are quite welcome to make 
yourself at home here, if you choose, and your 
aunt is in your room.” 

“There! I am glad you said aunt,” says the 
girl, brokenly, “ else I might not have had courage 
to say what I came to say. Oh, Miss Ivory ! if 
you only knew how I adore you, you would n’t be 
so perfectly hateful.” 

Jean smiles involuntarily at this paradox, and 
moving to the little painted washstand, pours some 
water into the basin. 

“If you are through crying,” she says, “ come 
and follow my advice.” 

“ I would be glad to follow your advice in more 
than that,” says Nettie, raising her reddened eyes 
to Jean’s calm, cool face. “I am sorry to have 
offended you so often, since you came to the Red 
Farm.” 

Jean begins to comprehend the reason of this 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


125 


visit. The plain face, which she found so pleasing 
upon the first day of seeing it, looks more pleasing 
to her now, in its disfigurement, than it has done at 
any time since, although it is hard to repress an- 
other smile at sight of the look of utter woe which 
is upturned to her. She stands for a moment and 
bites her lips, irresolute in hfer turn, then says in a 
lighter tone : 

“Bathe your face, Miss Nettie, and think no 
more about having ofiended me. I am not angry 
with you.” 

But this reply does not satisfy her companion. 

“I wish you were,” says the girl, moving to 
the stand and dashing the water into her face ; 
then, as she takes the towel : “I wish you cared 
enough about me to be angry ; but that is just it. 
Do you suppose that I do not see every day 
that you only think of me when you are obliged 
to, and then only to realize that I am a nuisance. 
If you will promise only to look at me as you do 
at the others, without that — oh, what is it? — 
bored, disgusted look in your eyes, I will honestly 
try not to be impertinent and tormenting ; ” and 
Nettie, having dried her eyes, draws nearer to 
the object of her unreciprocated affection, who has 


126 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

no faith in reform based upon sentiment, and who 
is severe in proportion to her youth and inexperi- 
ence. 

“ I am glad if you begin to perceive how badly 
you treat your aunt,” she returns coolly. 

Oh, Aunt Inez ! ” says Nettie, smiling, and in 
a voice which plainly shows that her aunt has no 
part whatever in her new resolve; “I was not 
thinking of her.” 

“ So I supposed,” says Jean ; “that is just the 
trouble. There is the tea-bell. Miss Nettie. Let 
us go down.” 

“No, Miss Ivory; please, not just yet. It is 
for your sake and for your approval, that I wish 
to be different,” returns Nettie, speaking rapidly 
as she intercepts Jean'’s movement toward the door. 

“ For whose ever sake you change, it would cer- 
tainly be the best thing you could do,” observes 
the older girl, thoroughly wearied. 

“Well, I wish you would tell me how you 
would like me to behave, so you will like me.” 

“If you really need to be shown that your 
rudeness is rudeness, you are in an unfortunate 
state,” returns Jean, and her clear, level tones are 
very humiliating to her companion. “You are 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


127 


hardly a child, but are quite old enough to know 
when you hurt another. As I said, if you need 
me, or any one, to specify the trouble, you are 
beyond hope.” 

“But Aunt Inez is such a foo — I mean,” hesi- 
tates Nettie, “it is such a temptation to say im- 
proper things to her, I can hardly resist. You do 
not know how hard it is. Miss Ivory. ” 

“No, I do not. You must be the judge of that. 
Let me pass, please.” 

And Nettie does let her pass, quite discouraged 
with the effort to soften, or conciliate, the young 
woman for whom she has conceived an almost 
morbid admiration. Having a straightforward, 
honest nature herself, Nettie Dart has grown into 
a keen appreciation of her aunt’s weaknesses, and 
has let her contempt for them overrule and 
crush out respect ; and she has made Jean, with 
her wholesome, unaffected strength of character, a 
kind of idol, to invest with all possible and impos- 
sible virtues, and to adore in secret, as younger 
girls sometimes do older ones, especially when, as 
in this case, theirs is a hopeless affection. 

“ I wish I did n’t care a fig what she thought of 
me,” muses the girl, when she is left alone. “ I’m 


128 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

sure I ought not to, but I do, and I will make her 
notice me in some way. She shall either approve 
of me, or be angry with me — I will make her ! ” and 
with a final drying of the troublesome eyes, she 
also goes down the old-fashioned stairs. 


TYRANT FASHION. 


129 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TYRANT FASHION. 

Her cheek was pale, and thinner than should be, for one so 
young. — Locksley Hall. 

“ What is this — a Dorcas society ? ” asks Ruth, 
a few mornings after the events of the last chapter, 
as she comes upon her sister boarders, who are 
seated, sewing, on the west piazza. “I have been 
up in my room, reading a novel. The heroine is a 
lovely character. She wears faded muslin dresses, 
and freshens them with a bright ribbon — that style 
of heroine always does — and devotes her whole 
life to the care of a consumptive friend who dies 
in the last chapter, after having lived just long 
enough to separate the heroine from her lover for- 
ever.” 

“ Is that what makes you look so wild? ” asks 
Jean. ‘‘Barbara,” in parenthesis, “let Mrs. Er- 
win finish that cap. You have pinned it in such a 
way that any one could put it together. ” 

Barbara smiles, and shakes her head as the 
I 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


widow makes a feeble effort to follow out Jean’s 
hint. 

“Do I look wild?” asks Ruth, putting both 
hands to her somewhat dishevelled head ; “then it 
is because I cried over that book ; and suddenly 
remembering that I was making a complete dunce 
of myself, discovered that the house was still as 
death, except for Mandy, who was making a bed 
in the next room, and singing : 

“ ‘ On ’ something ‘ mountain, there did dwell 
A’ something ‘youth, I knew him well.’ 

“Strange, I never can distinguish the name of the 
mountain, or what kind of youth lived there ; but 
it is not Mandy’s fault, for she practices the song 
six hours a day ; ” and Ruth seats herself on the 
piazza step, beside Jean who is, like herself, idle. 
“Do tell me, what is the use of writing books to 
make one cry ? I hold that a man or woman who 
publishes a book, has a great responsibility. He 
or she has no right to make people miserable, even 
if it is only temporary misery. The better the 
writer, the greater the responsibility ; ” and Ruth 
bumps her head gently against the post by which 
she is sitting. 

Jean’s eyes are upon Barbara’s earnest, flushed 


TYRANT FASHION. 


131 


face, as she bends over the breakfast-cap, and she 
does not answer her friend. 

“Oh, Mousie ! look, please, and see if I ran a 
splinter into my finger ; ” and with a little exclama- 
tion, Jean kneels on the step and leans one hand- 
some hand in Barbara’s lap, as, with the other, she 
takes the work and tosses it to Mrs. Erwin. 

The widow looks up in displeasure from her 
task of pleating some lace, then lays the cap down 
beside her, with the evident intention of returning 
it to the willing assistant, when the slender hands 
so busy with Jean's shall be free again. Even her 
uncritical eyes can not but be struck by the con- 
trast between the thin, fair face, and the oval beauty 
so near it, whose rich darkness enhances the other’s 
delicacy. 

“I can not see a thing, Jean,” says Barbara, 
inspecting a pink -tipped finger with a frown. 
“How strange that you should have felt a pain ! ” 

“And yet I did, B.,” returns Jean, slowly, 
but with her eyes fixed on her friend’s face, and 
not on the hypocritical hand. “Never mind ; it’s 
gone now ; ” and as Jean resumes her seat, the vigi- 
lant Mrs. Erwin returns the cap to Barbara ; for 
she found out, many days ago, that the plainly 


132 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

dressed girl has a positive genius for dress-making, 
and, given pretty materials, can rival a French 
woman in skill. 

“No ; Barbara is not going to sew any more. 
She is going to smooth my head,” says Jean, 
striving to speak lightly, as she again sends the 
muslin flying through the air, wishing at the same 
time that its texture were not so ethereal, and that 
it might bowl the persistent widow off the piazza. 

“Miss Ivory, I fully intend to pay Miss Waite 
for all that she does for me,” remarks that person- 
age, bridling. 

Jean turns suddenly, and the injured look fades 
as the little widow positively quails before the 
flashing eyes bent upon her ; but Jean controls 
herself. It would be bad for Barbara to be excited. 

“Miss Waite is not a seamstress, Mrs. Erwin. 
You forget ! ” she says, turning back. 

“ Oh, yes ; just let me finish the cap it will not 
take ten minutes,” says Barbara, making a move- 
ment toward it. 

“ I ’ll do it. Aunt Inez,” says Nettie. “ I am in 
no hurry for this fancy-work, and I think I can do 
it very well. ” 

As she speaks, the girl looks straight past her 


TYEANT FASHION. 


133 


aunt, at the back of Jean’s head, with its slightly- 
waved coil of black hair. She receives the looked- 
for reward. Jean turns and gives her a kind, 
approving look that makes her heart beat. 

“ That is the way to please her,” she thinks, 
‘‘through Miss Waite ; ” and, strangely, Nettie is 
not jealous of Miss Waite ; so she takes up the 
work with a happy face. 

“ I might do much worse than be a seamstress,” 
says Barbara, perceiving that her friend is dis- 
pleased for her. “It is nice to have that to fall 
back upon, in case teaching fails.” 

“Nice!” Jean shivers at the thought. How 
short a time it would take for the frail body to 
wear out in that — for Barbara — perilous employ- 
ment ! 

“ So you shall, Mousie ! only I bespeak all 
your time in advance. Shall I not outshine my 
neighbors in those days ? ” she exclaims, clapping 
her hands, enthusiastically. “Ruth, excuse me 
for not answering your question about books. 
Do n’t you know people enjoy being made miser* 
able ? enjoy crying over heart-rending stories ? ” 

“I’m sure I do,’’ asserts Mrs. Erwin, her equa- 
nimity restored ; “but I think it takes a sensitive 


134 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

nature to sympathize with and weep over another’s 
woes. I should never suspect you of doing such 
a thing, Miss Exeter.” 

“ I am glad you would n’t,” returns Ruth. “It 
is not my idea of pleasure, to be harrowed up dur- 
ing two-thirds of a book, and reduced to such a 
condition by the time I reach the last chapters, that 
T can not attempt to put my handkerchief in my 
pocket at all, but just sozzle through them in a fee- 
ble sort of way, and when I lay the book down, 
finished, be ashamed to see my own face in the 
glass ; ” and Ruth yawns in secret ; then, leaning 
back and looking up at the sky : “^Vko suggested 
coming to Pineland, girls ? Can you remember ? ” 
she asks. 

“ Oho, Ruth ! you have come to it, have you ? ” 
laughs Mabel. “ Why don’t you make a break- 
fast-cap ? You have no idea how soothing it is.” 

“Because it would never be on straight, if I 
had one. I can not even wear a bonnet, and sup- 
pose I never shall. It would always be on the side. 
Imagine how I shall look — one mass of wrinkles, 
with a full set of porcelain teeth, and wearing a 
jaunty hat trimmed with cock feathers, or a wing.” 

“ Ladies ! ” comes Miss Bounce’s voice from the 


TYRANT FASHION. 


135 


window which opens out upon the piazza; “did 
ever you eat a boiled dinner ? Really, I ’m at my 
wit’s end to know what to git for you, next.” 

“ I ’m afraid you take too much trouble for us. 
Miss Bounce,” says Jean. 

“Law, no; if I could only make Miss Waite 
eat, the trouble would n’t amount to nothin’.” 

Barbara looks up at the wrinkled face — grown 
more relaxed during the last two weeks, instead of 
more drawn — sure proof that her experiment is 
working well for both sides : 

“I think you can not have noticed me lately. 
Miss Bounce. I have been very hungry the last 
few days, after my rides. ” 

“So? Well, you ain’t what one would call a 
glutton, yet ! ” and Miss Hopeful smiles a grim 
smile. 

“If we could only import a few gentlemen, 
what a lovely fete champetre we could manage 
here,” remarks Mrs. Erwin, with a sigh, which in- 
dicates to the initiated her anxiety to see her very 
dear friend. 

“Why have n’t we thought of it before? ” ex- 
claims Ruth, with sudden interest. “We ought to 
have a picnic.” 


136 


“NO GENTLEMEN.' 




“ Of course, we ought,” echoes Jean. “Is there 
any place that you can recommend for the purpose. 
Miss Bounce.” 

“Huh ! ” ejaculates that person, half laughing, 
half grunting, and wholly scornfully. “I suppose 
you can put some victuals in a basket, an’ go out 
in the orchard, an’ eat ’em by the brook, as well as 
any wheres — full as many spiders an’ grand’ther 
long-legs there, as any where else.” 

“Oh, no; not so near home; that would not 
do at all,” smiles Jean. 

“There is the river where we were the* other 
day,” suggests Ruth, and her friend’s smile van- 
ishes. “We went down through the woods. Miss 
Bounce, and took the short cut to the village.” 

“You did? Then you seen the river. They 
say there ’s wonderful fishin’ in that river ; but I 
suppose you would not care for that ? ” 

“Why, yes, I think we should; don’t you, 
Jean ? ” and Ruth’s eyes dance mischievously. 
“I have recently taken quite an interest in fish- 
ing.” 

“O how Mr. Dart would enjoy it, if he could 
only be here,” sighs Mrs. Erwin, “he is passion- 
ately fond of fishing, is n’t he Nettie ? ” 


TYEANT FASHION. 


137 


‘‘Yes, ma’am,” replies her exemplary niece, 
twisting some lilac and black ribbons around the 
breakfast cap. 

Miss Bounce feels that this is reference to her 
limited hospitality. 

“There ain’t no reason why Miss Nettie’s pa 
shouldn’t ” I 

“He is not* her father,” interrupts the widow, 
snappishly. 

“Well, your friend, whoever he is ” 

“My ve’y dear friend,” interposes the other. 

“Why he shouldn’t stay to the village, and 
fish till he ’s sick of it,” continues Miss Bounce. 
“Here, Jabe ! Jabe ! ” she calls, as the boy is 
crossing the lawn. He hears, and comes sham> 
bling along in his lazy way. 

“Was there ever such a fellow to dawdle as 
you be,” is her greeting. “Didn’t Aunt Allen 
say there was a gentleman stapn’ to her place, 
fishin’?” 

“He don’t do no fishin’ there,” grins Jabe. 

“ No impidence. Ain’t there a gentlema stay- 
in’ there? That’s what I want to know.” 

“He ain’t, so to say, stayin’ there,” says Jabe, 

pushing his hat over until it hangs on one ear, the 
6 * 


138 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

better to scratch his head, “he’s off an’ onin’, as it 
were, so to speak.” 

“ Dear me, don’t he act like a nat’ral born one ?” 
asks Hopeful, despairingly. “What I keep him 
for, I don’t know. You see. Mis’ Erwin, Aunt 
Allen will take a gentleman, just as lieve as not.” 

“He don’t stay there all the time yer know,” 
explains Jabe, “he’s off to Bostoil one day, an’ 
back the next, back to Boston the next day, then 
liker’n not he’ll stay two days, next time he comes. 
I tell yer he caught a whackin’ big trout day before 
yisterday, I seen it yisterday mornin’.” 

Kuth pulls Jean’s dress lightly, but no answer- 
ing consciousness betokens that her friend takes any 
interest in the fact that the fisherman’s luck turned 
after they left him ; for there is no doubt in Ruth’s 
mind, that the good-looking unknown and Jabe’s 
fisherman are one and the same. 

“ Tell us a good place to picnic, Jabe,” she says. 

“I can take yer to a fust-rate place on the bank 
o’ the creek.” | 

“If Miss Bounce agrees, you shall do so to- 
morrow,” says Jean. 

“Jean, this is my picnic, and you are not going 
to take it out of my hands. For once I am going 


TYRANT FASHION. 


139 


to conduct something all myself,” says Euth, 
loftily. 

“So do, Miss Ex’ter,” says Miss Bounce ; “I 
guess Miss Avery ’ll let you, an’ welcome. Of all 
the things I do n’t covet to manage, a picnic ’s the 
worst. Is the place far, Jabe ? ” 

“ A pretty good piece.” 

“Then you’d better take one of the farm 
bosses with Dolly, an’ hitch up the hay wagon.” 

“ Oh, lovely ! ” exclaims Mabel. 

“Probably never saw a spring,” grumbles 
Polly ; but no one minds her croaking. 

“Can’t we help you with the lunch?” asks 
Jean of her hostess. 

“Law, no. You couldn’t do nothin’,” replies 
Hopeful. “You make your plans, an’ tell Jabe 
when you ’ll want to start. You ’re welcome to 
him for the whole day,” she adds in a tone which 
indicates that she considers the gift a small 
one. 

“Is Jabe busy to-day. Miss Bounce?” asks 
Jean, rising and advancing to the window where 
her landlady stands. 

“Busy!” with a contemptuous snort; “not 
likely.” 


140 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 




“ Could he drive me to Pineland Centre this 
afternoon ? ” 

Were Mrs. Ivory present to see her daughter 
make this request, her heart would sink within her, 
at the ominous lighting of Jean’s eyes. Jean only 
looks so bright, according to her step-mother, when 
she is intending to throw away a lot of money. 

“Hadn’t you better go hossback? You’ll go 
in half the time,” says blunt Miss Bounce. 

“I know; but it is too far, and too warm a 
ride for Miss Waite, and some one must go with 
her ; still, if it is not quite convenient, or it would 
be too tiresome for Dolly ” 

“Fiddlesticks! Do Dolly good,” interrupts 
Miss Hopeful. “Here, Jabe,” as the youth is 
turning away. “ What time. Miss Avery ? ” 

“Three o’clock.” 

Miss Bounce raises her voice again : 

“Jabe, have Dolly hitched to the carryall, and 
to the door at three. Do n’t forgit, now. ” 

Jabe nods and moves away. 

“You’d roast alive goin’ so far in the open 
wagon, the sun’s so hot, an’ the buggy’s wore* 
out, so I guess you ’ll be most comfortable in the 
carryall.” 


TYRANT FASHION. 


141 


“ Thank you, it will be very nice, and no doubt 
Miss Exeter will like to go with me.” 

“ I suppose you want to do some shoppin’ ? ’m ” 
asks Miss Bounce, ending with a little assenting 
sound which she often makes at the close of a 
question that she fears may sound over-curious. 
“ If you be, would you mind doin’ an errand for me?” 

“I should be very glad to,” returns Jean, cor- 
dially. 

“ Seems if I did n’t rightly know myself what 
I wanted, neither,” adds Miss Bounce, with some 
embarrassment, “if you an’ Miss Ex’ter would 
kind o’ gi’ me some advice, I should be beholden 
to ye.” 

“Why certainly. Kuth, come here a minute, 
please.” 

Kuth obeys, and the young ladies follow their 
hostess to her own room. 

“ Take seats, please,” she begins. “I never did 
pretend to have no taste for dress, but I never 
intend to let down the respectability o’ the Bounce 
name, through the meanness of a bonnet,” and so 
saying, the spinster marches with great firmness 
to her closet, and taking down a huge bandbox, 
places it on the floor, and kneels down beside it. 


142 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

Jean and Ruth also kneel down beside the box, 
and Miss Bounce puts on a pair of spectacles, to 
see the clearer through the dilemma in which fash- 
ion has placed her. 

She lays hands on the cover of the box, then 
pauses a moment, and looks over her spectacles at 
her companions. 

“ I dunno as you remember my brown bonnet, 
I hain’t ben out much sence you come,” she says 
anxiously. 

“Yes we do ; I do perfectly,” returns Ruth, and 
Jean is humbly thankful for the blank serenity 
of her friend’s face. 

“Well, I’ve wore that for two years, and Aunt 
Allen, she’s kind o’ new-fangled in her^ideas any- 
way ; why, Mandy, she knows just as much about 
the latest styles, an’ all that, as anybody in Boston, 
but I won’t listen to nothin’ from her. Aunt Allen 
says to me, ’twas one Monday, I was washin’, an’ 
she ought to ha’ ben, that’s the only thing I’ve got 
against Aunt Allen, she won’t wash till Tuesday. 
I was washin’ an’ she set there by me, an’ says 
she, ‘ Hopeful, I’m older than you be, an’ I know 
what’s fit for you better’n you do yourself. You 
need a new hunnetJ ’ I dunno when I’ve had such 


TYRANT FASHION. 


143 


a start, I most forgot to blue the clothes. I did n’t 
like not to say nothin’, for fear she should think 
she’d offended me, an’ she had n’t a mite ; Aunt 
Allen couldn’t offend nobody, so I just said, ‘I 
want to know?’ Says she, ‘yes; your bunnet,’ 
she always says bunnet, she ain’t a very correct 
speaker, ‘ your bunnet has troubled me for many a 
month past,’ says she. I interrupted her then, 
says I, ‘seems to me your eyes had better be 
aimed higher up in meetin’ than the top o’ my 
head.’ But she wan’t a speck put out. ‘That 
may be,’ says she, ‘ but say what you will, you’ve 
got somethin’ on your conscience as well as me in 
this matter. You set right in front o’ me, I can’t 
help seein’ you, an’ your bunnet is beginnin’ to 
interrupt my devotions. Hopeful Bounce.’ ” 

As Miss Bounce reaches this point, she sinks 
back in her kneeling posture, as far as practicable, 
and looks from Jean to Ruth, and back again. 

“Why, what be you smilin’ at? I tell you I 
felt bad enough, she spoke so earnest. She did n’t 
gi’me time to speak, but went right on, gettin’ 
more an’ more excited like. ‘ I’ve bore it Hope- 
ful,’ says she, ‘to see Winter melt into Summer, 
and Summer freeze into Winter two or three times 


144 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


»> 


over, an’ be disapinted each time in the hope that 
you’d git somethin’ else to wear on your head ; 
but yisterday, when it took me from Mr. Foster’s 
firstly to his sixthly, to find out whether the thing 
on top o’ that brown bunnet was a ostridge feather 
or a piece o’ seaweed, it made me feel bad. Hope- 
ful; real bad ! ’ ” 

Jean’s and Ruth’s shouts of laughter change the 
spinster’s look from anxious solemnity, to one of 
curiosity, while she gazes at her young compan- 
ions with a sympathetic half smile on her thin lips. 

“I dunno but what ther’ is a comical side to 
it,” she says, “but it thro wed such a weight o’ 
responsibility onto me when she took me so to task, 
that I felt like anythin’ but laughin’; it’s a dreadful 
thing to have to git a new bonnet.” 

“I never thought so,” returns Jean with laugh- 
ing eyes. 

“Well, there’s everythin’ in bein’ used to it, an’ 
I ain’t used to it, there’s the difference you see. 
Now, three years ago, I think ’twas three,” repeats 
Miss Hopeful, thoughtfully, “ I got me a Summer 
bonnet, an’ never wore it only one season, ’cause 
somehow it did n’t suit me.” 

Here she uncovers the huge box, and takes 


TYRANT FASHION. 


145 


therefrom a black straw bonnet, which she holds 
up for inspection with so anxious a look into the 
girls’ faces, that its hideousness fails to cause a 
smile. 

Kuth takes it a moment, touches the petals of 
its large yellow roses with dainty fingers, while 
her lips twitch. Then, just the right comment 
upon it failing to present itself, she passes it to 
Jean, in silence. 

I was lookin’ at it yisterday, an’ I’ve ben takin’ 
pertikeler notice o’ your things, sence you come, 
an’ somehow or ’nother, that bonnet hain’t got the 
right look,” and Miss Bounce seats herself in a 
chair, and leans her chin in her hand. 

’Tain’t a mite like your’s. Miss Avery.” 

This naive assertion sends Kuth to the window 
to look out on the stretch of green grass, and the 
hammock - hung chestnut grove. 

“An’ I was goin’ to ask you ef you wouldn’t 
git some trimmin’ for it, that it would n’t be too 
great a tax on me to wear, yet that would be 
soothin’ to Aunt Allen. It’s dreadful to be so 
stylish as she is.” 

A memory comes to Jean of Aunt Allen, fat, 
fair, and far upon the shady side of fifty, clad in 
K 7 


146 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 




highly peculiar raiment ; but she does not smile, 
she balances the black and yellow horror on one 
hand, and looks seriously into Miss Bounce’s face. 

“Just wrap this up in paper for me and I’ll 
take charge of it and promise you shall be satisfied 
with the trimming.” 

“ Satisfied ? Of course I shall,” says Miss Hope- 
ful, jumping up briskly to obey; “although I’m 
afraid it will be too much trouble. Perhaps I 
ought to go with you an’ attend to it myself.” 

“O, no, no indeed,” replies Jean, with suspi- 
cious eagerness, “I should really enjoy doing it 
myself.” 

“Very well, then, an’ thank you again an’ 
again,” says the other, in a relieved tone, as she 
pins up the parcel. “ Don’t stent yourself, now ; I 
can afford to go as high as a dollar an’ a half for 
trimmin’.” 


A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 


147 


CHAPTER IX. 

A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 

And the name of the fiend was — Drink. 

The pleasant little circle is gathered about Miss 
Bounce’s tea table, before the old carryall turns 
into the gap in the stone wall, bringing Jean and 
Ruth home from Pineland Centre. 

That their errands, whatever they were, have 
been successful, is evident from their good spirits. 
The little danger lamps still burn in Jean’s eyes, as 
she greets Barbara with a smile, at once brilliant 
and tender. 

“Who rode with you to-day, B.?” she asks, 
removing her hat and seating herself at the table. 
“ Miss Nettie ? That’s good. Now let me unload, 

I have my pocket full of little parcels. Mrs. 
Erwin, I hunted faithfully for your crewels, but 
every where I asked for them they looked at me as 
though I were a harmless sort of lunatic, but there’s 
your chenille, and Ruth, you have Mabel’s lace, 
Polly there’s your ribbon, and Barbara, there is a 


148 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

white tie that I saw hanging up, marked Barbara 
Waite. Of course I took it and brought it home.” 

“Who ever heard you talk so fast, Jean!” 
exclaims Barbara, tying her gift about her neck, 
where it lies a soft little mass of white embroidery 
under her delicate chin. “What discriminating 
clerks they must have at Pineland Centre, to knov/ 
just what suits me best,” and although Barbarf' 
understands so well just how Jean likes to be taken, 
her face shows plainly enough that she has a true 
woman’s love of finery, and enjoys her gift for its 
own sake as well as the giver’s. 

“Talk so fast,” repeats Jean, “you would not 
wonder at me if you knew how silent I have had 
to be in the carriage. Ruth and Jabe have con- 
versed without ceasing. Miss Bounce, Miss Exeter 
will spoil ” 

Jean gets so far, when she sees in Hopeful’s 
face an anxious look which recalls to her mind the 
absorbing interest which her hostess has had in her 
visit to the town. Indeed, Miss Bounce has been 
watching with eager interest the tissue paper par- 
cels as Jean and Ruth have drawn them forth, one 
by one. 

At Miss Ivory’s first announcement that her 


A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 14:9 

pocket was fall of bundles, Miss Bounce laid down 
her knife. 

“ There ! ” she thought, “if she hain’t brought 
home my flowers in her pocket, an’ liker’n not set 
on ’em all the way ; ” but as each parcel proves to 
be something other than her “ trimmin’,” her heart 
sinks lower yet, as the shifted responsibility seems 
likely to come home to roost on her own angular 
shoulders after all. 

Jean reads her disappointment and interrupts 
herself suddenly : 

“I attended to your errand, too. Miss Bounce, 
but we will wait and discuss so important a matter 
after tea.” 

“Thank you,” returns the lady of the house, 
rather dejectedly. Then, partly to conceal her dis- 
appointment, she continues : “What did you think 
of the town, young ladies? I s’pose you drove 
through the best part.” 

“ Yes,” responds Ruth, “ and saw ever so many 
pretty homes. But, Polly, what am I thinking 
of, not to tell you that we met Dan.” 

“Dan who ? ” asks Polly, pausing in the act of 
lifting a strawberry to her lips. 

“Have you forgotten so soon, fair and fickle 


150 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

one ? ” asks Ruth, shaking her head in tender re« 
proach as she gazes at Polly : “ Why, the Jehu of 
the Pineland stage, of course. He remembers how 
you enjoyed your drive with him, and is ready at 
any time to repeat the treat. ” 

“ Ugh ! you silly thing ! ” exclaims Miss Gun- 
ther, in disgust. 

“Indeed, Ruth bowed to him as affably as pos- 
sible,” remarks Jean, smiling at the remembrance. 

“Of course, I did!” exclaims Ruth, impress- 
ively. 

“ Wlio guided our exploring feet 
Into his stage on Centre street, 

And strapped us safely to the seat ? 

’T was Dan ! 

“ and do you suppose I am above recognizing our 
benefactor ? But for him, perhaps we should not 
be eating fresh strawberries this minute at the Red 
Farm. Jean, you ’re nearest them ; please give 
me one spoonful more.” 

It is an unusually informal supper-hour — Jean 
and Ruth being late — and one by one the com- 
pany leave the table, Jean being the last to rise. 

“Come up stairs with me. Miss Bounce,” she 
says, “and I will tell you what I did about the 
bonnet.” 


A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 


151 


As she passes through the hall, she sees Mrs. 
Erwin endeavoring to peer into a loosely pinned 
bundle lying on the hall table. 

Jean takes the bundle in silence, and goes up 
stairs, followed by Miss Hopeful. 

“Dear me! what an odd girl she is,” thinks 
Mrs. Erwin, uncomfortably. “ How she can make 
one feel, without saying a word ; and I was n’t do- 
ing any thing to be ashamed of either. I would n'jt 
be as disagreeable as she is, for all the world ! ” 
and Mrs. Ervin moves to the open door, from 
which she sees Barbara and Ruth walking up and 
down beneath the trees. 

“What do you suppose that generous-hearted 
Jean went to the Centre for « ” Ruth is asking, as 
Mrs. Erwin appears in the doorway. 

The widov/ strains her ears, having a large 
bump of curiosity, and although she can not dis- 
tinguish all of what is being said, a word here and 
there, as Ruth in her interest raises her voice, en- 
ables her to gather something of the truth, and she 
enjoys her meager and not very interesting knowl- 
edge, merely because the conversation is not in- 
tended for her ears. 

“She went to see Miss Bounce’s sister,” Ruth 


152 


“NO GENTLEMEN.' 


»> 


goes on, ‘‘a sister whom we learned of on our first 
visit here. Miss Bounce will have nothing to do 
with her, because she will not leave her husband, 
who drinks.” 

“Poor thing!” puts in Barbara, sympathetic- 
ally. 

“Of course any one whom money can help, 
sticks fast in Jean’s mind until she has given some 
of hers to the needy one; so, there we went to- 
day. Oh, such a doleful place ! One of these 
square, white, nondescript houses that grow right 
out of the sidewalk, and have no curtains at the 
windows! We went in, and there we found this 
woman, looking comically like Miss Bounce, al- 
though one lives here in plenty, and the other has 
so hard a life, with five children and a husband 
who is ten times more care than a child. He was 
not there, and I was grateful for that, for I did not 
know as I should ever smile again, as it was. If 
the house looked forlorn on the outside, it was 
enough worse within. There was n’t a decent chair 
to sit down in, and, really, the children looked 
hungry. ” 

“ How did you know what to say ? ” questions 
Barbara. 


A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 153 

I never should have said any thing. I 
should have been standing in the middle of Mrs. 
Allen’s floor, to this moment, unless she had put 
me out. I felt ashamed of being there at all, you 
know, she looked so uncompromising and so sin- 
cerely sorry to see us. But Jean would have fas- 
cinated a stone, she looked so bright and modest, 
and the way she said ‘ Is this Mrs. Allen ? ’ dis- 
armed the poor woman ; then she lifted one of the 
children into her lap, and held it while she talked. 
As soon as Mrs. Allen heard we were living here, 
she shook her head and looked as hard as a rock. 
‘Then I know what your errand is,’ she said, ‘and 
Hopeful ought to know by this time that I won’t 
listen to it’ Jean explained to her that Miss 
Bounce knew nothing of our coming, but that 
Aunt Allen had directed us. Of course, I can not 
tell you all that was said ; but Jean was lovely — 
lovelier than ever.” 

“Yes,” assents Barbara, eagerly. 

“The misery of the whole situation was so ob- 
vious, that it would only have made matters worse 
to appear to ignore it ; so Jean talked right out. 
Mrs. Allen looked hard as the rock of Gibraltar 
through much of it ; but suddenly she broke down 


154 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

and cried, and all five of the children kept her 
company. It was a dreadful noise, but it was very 
pathetic. These people are living on a respectable 
street, instead of in an alley, so their neighbors^ 
were letting them starve — really starve, Barbara,” 
Euth continues, with trembling lips. I could not 
stand it. I rushed out of the house, and laughed 
at Jabe in a crazy sort of way, leaving Jean to 
make them happy, temporarily, at any rate.” 

‘‘Jabe knew, of course, whom you had been to 
see ? ” 

“Not at all ; and his ignorance shows how neg- 
lected this unfortunate woman has been by her 
sister. I think Miss Bounce is just as hard-hearted 
as she can be, although Jean says her conduct pro- 
ceeds merely from ignorance of the truth.” 

“I imagine Jean does more good than harm 
with her money,” observes Barbara, thoughtfully. 

“Imagine so? Of course, she does.” 

“ I am sure I should n’t, in her place,” returns 
Barbara, meekly, seating herself in one of the 
chairs which Jean has had scattered about under 
the trees. 

“There, now, I have tired you out with my 
quick walking ? ” says Euth, contritely. 


A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 


155 


“No, I am not tired, only rather breathless. 
You know my breath is so provokingly short ! ” 

“ For pity’s sake, never let Jean hear you say 
that!” 

Scarcely has the thoughtless exclamation passed 
her lips, than Ruth would give worlds to recall it, 
and her face glows as she feels the troubled gray 
eyes fixed upon her. 

“ Yes, I know Jean worries about me,” says 
Barbara, “and I know, too, that her unflagging 
kindness is not in vain. I am growing stronger 
every day, and it makes me so happy, Ruth, for 
my mother. If I should — if anything should 
happen to me before I had repaid her for all she 
has suffered to give me my education, how sad it 
would be.” 

Ruth listens in amazement. Barbara’s voice is 
so entirely removed from fear, or self-pity, Ruth 
suddenly realizes that what is a new and fearful 
thought to herself and Jean, is an old and well- 
considered one to the invabd, and that all Jean’s 
delicate little subterfuges are quite thrown away. 

“I take the beautiful gift of Jean’s love and 
care with gratitude,” continues Barbara, “ and 
every advantage she gives me I use to the utmost 


155 “ NO gentlemen/’ 

and if any thing can save me from the fate which 
has always been dreaded for me, I shall escape. 
My poor father ! There was no one to care for and 
save him. Mother could only love him and try to 
keep her heart from breaking ; but there, Ruthie, 
I am being selfish. What a day this has been for 
you, poor child ! Do n’t cry, Ruth ; do n’t, dear.” 

‘‘I should — have cried — coming home,” sobs 
Ruth, sinking into a chair by Barbara, “ if it had n’t 
been that Jabe and the carryall were so comical.” 

She cries for a minute, then wipes her eyes and 
continues : 

“You know Miss Bounce said the buggy was 
‘ wore out,’ and I’m sure if she considers the carry- 
all in good order, I shouldn’t like to see the buggy.” 

Ruth is eagerly anxious to get away from sad 
subjects, and Barbara joins in the laugh as her 
friend graphically describes the once -respectable 
old conveyance. 

“It is delightful for Jean, more than delight- 
ful, to go about playing fairy god -mother with 
so powerful a wand,” says Barbara, when they 
are quiet again. 

“And few people with money do the kind of 
things she does,” returns Ruth. “ A person needs 


A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 


157 


to have not a particle of lazy blood in her veins, 
to do good in Jean’s way.” 

“Still, it is more from an impulsive love of it, 
than from a sense of duty, that she is charitable,” 
says Barbara, somewhat timidly. 

“What of that! Why should you depreciate 
her on that account ? ” asks Ruth, sharply. 

“I am not depreciating her,” is the quiet 
answer. “I was only thinking. I am afraid, 
in spite of all her tact and power and sweetness, 
the darling’s generosity will get her into trouble 
sometime. She will be likely to get some hard 
knocks while gaining experience.” 

Ruth smiles at some thought suggested by 
these words. 

“You’re a clear-sighted, wise little B.,” she 
says, ashamed of her quick temper, “ and let me 
tell you something, Barbara,” she continues, with 
a significant nod, “the rash mortal is to be pitied 
who attempts to console Queen Jean for any of 
those same knocks.” 

Meanwhile, up stairs in Jean’s room, important 
business is being transacted. Jean has led Miss 
Bounce thither, and closed the door. 


158 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

Miss Hopeful looks anxiously at the bundle in 
Miss Ivory’s hand. 

“ 1 see you brought the bonnet back,” she says, 
“jest as you took it. Did you find you could n’t 
decide on a trimmin’? — ’m.” 

Jean takes the pins out one by one, and unfolds 
the paper, displaying a black chip bonnet trimmed 
with black lace and violets. 

“Laws-ee, ain’t that pretty?” ejaculates Miss 
Hopeful, with a lighting up of her grim face, as 
she puts on her spectacles. 

“ Very, I think ; let me try it on you,” returns 
Jean, suiting the action to the word. 

“Well, if that ain’t complete, what is it?” 
questions Miss Bounce of her reflection in the mir- 
ror. “That sets down on my head and feels as 
comfortable as an old shoe.” 

Jean ties the black lace strings, and congratu- 
lates herself on her selection, while her companion 
can hardly find words for her relief and satisfac- 
tion. 

“Why, ’tain’t no more like that bonnet you 
took away than chalk’s like cheese,” observes Miss 
Bounce when finally she holds her acquisition in 
her hand again. 


A CHARITABLE ERRAND. 


159 


Jean smiles and wonders what man, woman 
or child, is the richer for the yellow-trimmed head- 
gear which she threw out of the old carryall a few 
hours ago, upon entering Pineland Centre. 

“You know they do over straws like yours,” 
she says, half smiling. 

Miss Bounce receives the information in good 
faith. 

“ I want to know ? I should n’t have supposed 
they could do it so quick, but time rolls on, as the 
old sayin’ is, an’ I can’t keep up with it ; but I 
thank you more’n I can say, for the trouble you’ve 
took. ” 

“And you think now that you will not inter- 
rupt Aunt Allen’s devotions ? ” asks Jean. 

“I’m not so sure Miss Avery,” replies Miss 
Bounce, nodding her head significantly. ‘ ‘ I may 
stir another feelin’ in her by settin’ in front of her 
with this on, the human heart’s deceitful an’ des- 
perately wicked you know, and now,” dropping 
from a high moral tone to one of business, “I 
know you laid out more’n a dollar an’ a half on 
this, pressin’ over an’ all, but I ain’t a mite sorry. 
I’d pay three dollars for it any time.” 

“Very well, if you are satisfied I am glad. 


160 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

You can pay me when you like, there is no 
hurry.” 

“ You did give as much as three dollars for it, 
then ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, I ain’t a mite sorry, I don’t know but 
what I should git as dressy as Aunt Allen if I had 
you to pick out my things for me,” and away goes 
Miss Bounce to her supper dishes. 


THE PICNIC. 


161 


CHAPTER X. 

THE PICNIC. 

“ In Summer when the days were long.” 

“Are you sure you’ll not change your mind, 
and come with us, Miss Bounce ? ” 

The hay wagon stands at the door, and the pic- 
nickers are ready. Jean stands on the piazza, but- 
toning her gloves, as she asks the question. 

Miss Bounce in the door-way, shakes her head. 

“ I’m glad enough to do my part to help you 
go,” she returns, “if you’ll gi’me the privilege o’ 
stayin’ at home. Jabe, have you got them baskets 
fixed so the sun won’t get at ’em ? ” And not con- 
tent with an assurance of their safety, she goes out 
to the wagon, and climbing upon the hub of the 
wheel, sees their safe disposition for herself, while 
her gray curls blow in the warm Summer wind. 

“Jabe, do get a chair,” says Mrs. Erwin com- 
plainingly, “what a dreadful thing to get into! 
There’s my waterproof, I never went to a picnic 

but it rained.” 

L 7* 


1G2 “ XO GENTLEMEN.” 

“I am afraid you are sacrificing yourself, 
and going for our sakes, Mrs. Erwin,” says 
Kuth. 

“ No indeed, I would n’t stay at home without a 
soul to speak to, for all the world.” And the little 
widow, in her dainty black and white cambric, 
climbs carefully into the chair, and from there into 
the wagon. 

Much good advice has terminated in her com 
senting to immure her carefully tended complexion 
in one of Ruth’s shakers, on the consideration 
that the company can not possibly meet any one 
whose opinion is w^orth anything, and that the 
drive is a long, sunny one ; so the loaded wagon is 
an odd sight, with its fresh, pretty Summer toilets, 
topped with the long bonnets which bob about in- 
cessantly. 

“ Good-bye, Miss Bounce,” calls Ruth, standing 
up and waving her hand, “it is delightful to be 
able to make all the noise you want to.” 

“Hurray! jes’ so,” shouts Jabe, touching up 
the horses, who start off, shaking their heads and 
switching their tails. 

“Jabe, don’t you whip them bosses,” comes 
Miss Bounce’s voice, in parting command. 


THE PICNIC. 


163 


^‘Who is the strange horse?” asks Kuth, who 
is stationed directly behind the driver. 

‘‘One that belongs to the farm. She keeps 
three on ’em out to pastur’, she do n’t raise much 
but hay on the farm, an’ they have a lazy time 
on ’t. Do n’t think much o’ bosses any way side o’ 
mules,” remarks Jabe, with the air of a connois- 
seur. 

“Mules?” 

“Yes. They don’t use much else in aour kaoun- 
ty ; git up Doll. Why, we’ve got a brown mule 
to hum that knows more’n most humans. Playful ! 
ye’ never see such a playful mule in all yer life.” 

“Not with his heels, I hope,” laughs Ruth, who 
always encourages the boy to talk. 

“ O, playful all over. Yer’d ought to seen what 
he done one day when I was drivin’. Ye’ see I 
was in a hurry, fer I was a-goin’ for the doctor. 
My sister Emma, she’d ben a-playin’ the fool in 
the front yard that mornin’, climbin’ trees an’ so 
on, till at last she’d fell an’ broke her collar-bone. 
Well, ther’s a doctor in aour kaounty that’s a, 
number one, on bones, so I was sent fer him double 
quick. Well, I was a-drivin’ Bub, — his name’s 
Beelzebub, but we allers called him Bub for short, 


m 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 




— I was drivin’ him as fast as I could, when we 
ketched up with a flock o’ sheep on the road.” 

By this time Jahe has secured the attention of 
the whole party, as he raises his voice to be heard 
above the clatter of the springless old wagon. 

“ Every sheep in that flock was white but one, 
an’ that un was black as yer hat. Now, what do 
yer think that playful mule done ? He took the 
trouble to go to the side o’ the road, an’ kick that 
black sheep.” 

The laugh that follows this proof of Bub’s 
humor is changed to a scream, as Jabe, in the flush 
of pleasure of the successful story -teller, allows 
the horses to pursue their own course — one which 
causes a wheel to strike full against a stump, while 
the wagon slides about and bids fair to turn over. 

That catastrophe being averted, the picnickers 
compose themselves again, and Mrs. Erwin affirms 
that she is “dreadfully shaken.” 

“What else can you expect, Mrs. Erwin, wear- 
ing a shaker for the first time ? ” asks unsympa- 
thetic Ruth, who has no nerves and consequently 
only enjoys the excitement. 

Mrs. Erwin finds some relief in venting her dis- 
pleasure indirectly, by finding fault with Nettie for 


THE PICNIC. 


165 


talking too loud, for stooping, for laughing, and 
for various similar offences, her niece’s meek be- 
havior rendering her daring. 

Nettie looks across at Jean for sympathy and 
encouragement, but Jean appears unconscious of 
any difficulty, and the girl has to bite her lip and 
hold her peace all unaided ; and she does it suc- 
cessfully until set free from small persecutions bj^ 
their arrival at the ground. 

“I dunno how you’ll like it, but this is the 
place,” remarks Jabe, striking into the woods by a 
wagon-path, which brings the party into a grassy 
clearing on the bank of the river, busier and more 
full of tiny waterfalls than at the point which Jean 
and Ruth have already explored. 

“ Like it ? Of course we do. It is an ideal pic- 
nic ground ! ” exclaims Jean. “ Come Barbara, I 
see the very spot you and I are going to monopo^ 
lize,” and she helps her friend down from the 
wagon and leads the way to a mossy incline under 
one of the noble trees. 

“ First the air pillow,” she continues, taking the 
same from the basket upon her arm, and placing it 
close to the tree-roots; ‘‘then this shawl, which 
goes over it — so ; then Barbara Waite, who lies 


166 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

down on it — so — and has this thin shawl spread 
over her — so ; ” and Jean tosses her friend’s bon- 
net and her own away on the grass, as she sinks 
down beside Barbara. 

Knth has refrained from telling Jean of her con- 
versation with Barbara, and now, as she looks at 
the pair, she realizes that she has done wisely. It 
is better that Jean should not know that Barbara 
realizes her delicate condition. She feels the more 
freedom and hopefulness in caring for her. 

“I am sure I wish we all had pillows,” says 
Mrs. Erwin. ‘‘Any one could sleep after having 
been tossed up and down in that wagon for a half 
an hour. Bring me that blanket shawl, Nettie, 
and I will improvise a pillow.” 

“Promise to go to sleep, then. Only on that 
condition will I let you have it, for I was just going 
to spread it out for Miss Ruth and me to sit on.” 

“ Keep it, then ! ” retorts her aunt. 

“Thanks ! I will. I ’ll make a magic carpet, 
and we will use it Turkish fashion. Come, Aunt 
Inez, there ’s plenty of room for you ; ” and Mrs. 
Erwin, unable to find any thing better, accepts with 
a rather poor grace. 

“If this were a magic carpet, where would you 


THE PICNIC. 


16T 


fly to?” asks Kuth, taking her place. “I an; 
rather glad it isn’t. These woods are sufficient 
for my happiness at present. Jabe, you ’ve left 
the baskets in the sun.” 

“ 1 11 see to ’em. I never could do more ’n two 
things to oncet,” returns Jabe, good naturedly. 

Mrs. Erwin looks pensive : “There are a good 
many places I ought to visit, if I could be trans- 
ported through the air.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t we look comical?” interrupts 
Nettie, gathering up the edges of the Rob Roy 
shawl. 

“ There were three young women in shakers, 

Who traveled o’er hundreds of acres, 

Till the birds in the sky, 

Wishing faster to fly, 

Just lit on the crowns of their shakers.” 

“Behold the great American jingler ! ” ex- 
claims Ruth, patting her on the shoulder. “You 
ought to write a nonsense book.” 

“ Indeed, she ought ! ” agrees Mrs. Erwin, 
acidly. “I’ve often thought so.” 

“ Dearest Aunt Inez, I interrupted you ; for> 
give me ; but I know just what you were going to 

say. You would fly first to the hospital, trip 

through the pleasantest ward, and regret that a 


168 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


>> 


pressing engagement prevented you from remain- 
ing and reading to the patients.” 

Mrs. Erwin’s offended expression causes Nettie 
to remember suddenly that she is defacing the new 
leaf which she turned for Jean’s sweet sake only 
three evenings ago, and she looks quickly at her 
ideal, ready, if she receives but a warning look, to 
relinquish her amusement ; but no look is forth- 
coming. Miss Ivory must have heard every word 
that has passed, but her large, dreamy eyes rest 
indifferently on the whirling, eddying stream. 
Evidently Jean is determined that there shall 
be no bond between herself and the willful 
speaker. 

Nettie imagines she reads her idol’s thoughts, 
and finds in them contempt for herself. 

‘‘ She will not care for me. She shall be angry 
with me,” she resolves. 

‘‘How thankful lam, your mother does not 
know the trial you are to me, with your imperti- 
nence,” says Mrs. Erwin. t 

“Pshaw! Weren’t you thinking of the hos- 
pital? Now, confess.” 

“Certainly, I was,” returns Mrs. Erwin, witk 
dignity, unable to hold her peace and ignore her 


THE PICNIC. 


169 


troublesome niece. “You know ve’y well how 
devoted I am to ” 

“Yes, I’m coming to him,” adds Nettie, reck- 
lessly. I was just going to say, that when you 
had walked through your ward, you would imme- 
diately proceed to Mr. Dart’s office, and tell him 
that you had been spending the morning at the 
hospital. Kenneth, you would say — and you do 
thay ‘ Kenneth ’ tho thweetly ! ” Nettie talks with 
her eyes on Jean’s face, regardless of the angry 
color burning in that of her aunt, ready as soon as 
she shall receive one surprised glance, to stop ; but 
to her mortification, Jean addresses Barbara with 
a smile, re-arranges the shawl over her, and looks 
back at the river. Suddenly, an apparition on the 
bank, between her and the water, interrupts her 
vision and the thread of Nettie’s speech. 

“ There he is. Aunt Inez ! Say it now ! ” she^ 
exclaims, jumping up from the magic carpet and 
looking at the stranger, a guilty conscience making 
her unready to fly to meet him. 

He is a tall man, with close-cut hair and thick 
blonde moustache. A broad hat is pushed to the 
back of his head as he stands, collarless, pantaloons 
tucked into his boots, and fishing-rod over his 
8 


170 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

shoulder, surprisedly regarding the group which 
the sudden grassy space in the woods reveals to him. 

Mrs. Erwin starts to her feet, throws off the 
hateful bonnet, and gives her hair sundry careful 
pats and drawings-down over her forehead. 

“Your wig is one-sided,” remarks Nettie, by 
way of consolation. 

The widow flushes redder if possible, runs her 
finger over the lace parting of her handsome 
crimps, to make sure of the falsity of the state- 
ment, then goes to meet the stranger, who takes 
off his hat and advances into the shade of the trees. 

“Kenneth, you wicked boy!” she exclaims. 
“ Have you been staying in this place without let- 
ting me know it ? ” and placing her hand in his, she 
comes closer to her very dear friend than there 
would seem any occasion for, and looks up into his 
face like a grieved child. 

The group is a study for a painter. 

Barbara half rises, and looks at the central 
figures. Jean, paler and straighter than ever, does 
not lift her eyes after the first look, but lays a de- 
taining hand on Barbara’s shoulder, as if to prevent 
her from rising from her comfortable position. 

Mabel and Polly, from their more distant seat, 


THE PICNIC. 


171 


look as though an invaluable gold nugget had 
fallen from the clouds into their midst, as they 
pause in their oak-wreath manufacture, to steal fur- 
tive glances at the new comer. 

Kuth, red - lipped and rosy, makes no secret of 
staring in open-mouthed amazement at this dis- 
closure of the identity of her fisherman acquain- 
tance, and Nettie, after standing irresolute a 
moment, follows her aunt. 

“ How do you do, little girl ? ” says the stranger, 
smiling for the first time, as he holds out his hand 
to Nettie, freeing it from the widow’s clasp for the 
purpose. “Has country air made you pensive, or 
are n’t you glad to see me ? ” 

“ No wonder she’s pensive ! You did not count 
on Mr. Dart’s appearing so suddenly, did you? 
What I go through, with her impertinence, Ken- 
neth, would fill a volume. ” 

“Let me tell him what I said to ofiend you, and 
let him judge for himself how bad I have been,” 
suggests Nettie. 

“ You ’ll do nothing of the kind ! ” exclaims 
Mrs. Erwin, hurriedly and angrily. 

Kenneth Dart’s handsome face clouds over as at 
an oft-repeated annoyance. 


172 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

‘‘ Well, I will pursue my winding way, and see 
you again,” he says. 

“ No indeed ! Why you have n’t answered my 
question. How could you be so unkind as not to 
let me know you were here ? ” 

“ How would it have served me ? Miss Bounce 
keeps a trained tiger, I understand, to devour un- 
wary callers. Have you forgotten the day you 
came, when she snubbed me so cruelly, and would 
not allow me to go with you to the farm ? ” 

“ O, she would not be so disobliging always. 
Miss Ivory thinks — O, excuse me. Miss Ivory, 
allow me to present my ve’y — my friend, Mr. 
Dart.” 

Kuth watches the introduction. Will Jean con- 
tinue the haughty behavior begun a few days since ? 
No ; evidently the forms of society are all she de- 
mands, and her recognition of the fisherman is 
sufficiently gracious. 

Having started, Mrs. Erwin presents her friend 
to each of the company, and is surprised when she 
reaches Kuth, to see Mr. Dart’s formal bow fol- 
lowed by a questioning glance, quickly responded 
to by a frank smile on Miss Exeter’s part, followed 
again by cordial hand - shaking. 


THE PICNIC. 


173 


^‘Dear me, have I introduced old friends? I 
am continually doing that,” says Mrs. Erwin, clasp- 
ing her hands, having grown still more youthful 
since the gentleman’s advent. 

“Not very old friends, good friends, I hope,” 
he replies. 

“Certainly, Mr. Dart,” asserts Ruth. “O, the 
luxury of saying Mistef* ! You are not going to 
deprive us of it immediately, I hope ? ” 

“ Of course not, Kenneth, do stay,” begs Mrs. 
Erwin rather faintly, not being quite sure whether 
under the circumstances she really desires him 
to do so. 

Mr. Dart looks slowly around at Jean. The 
young lady is talking with her friend and does hot 
add her invitation. Perhaps that is the one thing 
which decides him. 

He lifts the strap of his basket higher up on his 
shoulder. 

“ I have an engagement with some trout farther 
down the stream,” he says with a smile and half 
bow, “ and could n’t think of breaking it.” 

“Pshaw, Kenneth ! ” exclaims the little widow, 

“ you have fish enough now, in that basket. I can 
smell them — nasty things — ugh ! ” 


174 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

‘‘Thought ye’d be out to-day,” speaks Jabe, 
approaching the stranger, whom he has been eyeing 
ever since his appearance. “Did n’t suppose ye ’d 
be passin* here though, or I would n’t ha’ brought 
them here,” with a jerk of his thumb over his 
shoulder, at the ladies. “ Hain’t said a word about 
ye at the house sence you told me not to,” con- 
tinues the boy, regardless of the expressive frown 
bent upon him. “"Miss Bounce — she axed me 
some questions, but I answered her kinder per- 
miscus like,” and Jabe nods in self-congratulation. 
“ I knowed ye ” 

“What do you think of these, Jabe?” inter- 
rupts the fisherman, lifting the cover of his basket. 

“Hullo! three on ’em — beauties!” exclaims 
the other, lifting out the fish. “Ain’t that pretty 
well, now ! Miss Avery, she likes fish. Would n’t 
ye like to help eat ’em. Miss Avery?” holding the 
fish toward her. 

Jean raises her black brows, smiles and nods. 

“ I’m sure you ought to let her, then, Kenneth,” 
asserts Mrs. Erwin. 

“ If you will accept so very moist and uncom- 
fortable a gift. Miss Ivory, you will honor me, 
I ’m sure. ” 


THE PICNIC. 


175 


‘‘I could not think of separating the fish and 
their owner,” returns Jean, unconscious of the 
double meaning attachable to her words — bent 
only on behaving to this man as though she had, 
never seen him before. 

“Oh, oh! Miss Ivo’y!” exclaims the widow, 
spreading her fan over her face. “Kenneth, she 
will not take the fish, without ” 

“Then you will allow me to eat them with 
you? Thank you,” says the fisherman, laying 
down the rod, and, passing the strap of the basket 
over his head, he drops his load beneath the trees. 

“ Jabe, can you cook those fish? ” 

“ Oh, can’t I, jest? ” 

“Well, there they are. My costume,” looking 
down at his high boots, “was not intended for a 
picnic ; but with your permission, I can make it a 
trifle more finished,” and diving into a pocket of 
his blue flannel coat, the speaker draws forth a 
collar and necktie, with the former of which he 
deliberately adorns himself. “Miss Ivory, you 
can have no idea what a faint feeling came over me 
when I discovered you all and remembered that 
my collar was in my pocket. Samson’s sensations 
when he found himself shorn, must have been 


^76 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

something like it ; but now,” buttoning his collar, 
“ I feel my strength returning. Nettie, come here 
and tie my necktie.” The girl obeys. “And now 
I am myself again. If any lady present would like 
a tree or two uprooted, I shall be happy to oblige 
her. Miss Waite, I am sorry if I disturbed you,” 
as Barbara rises from her couch. 

“You ought to be very glad,” returns the girl, 
smiling. “I needed something to disturb me. 
Do you know the Red Farm makes people very 
lazy, Mr. Dart ? ” 

‘ I should think it must. What have you been 
doing with yourself, Inez ? ” 

“Just what I expected when I came — sewing 
a little ; reading a little ; ” 

“Sleeping a great dealj” puts in Nettie. 

“And being homesick a great deal,” finishes the 
widow, with a sigh, intended to express her long 
suffering. 

“It was very good of you to come, certainly ; 
and yet, with so many young ladies, there would 
seem to be no reason why you could not find en- 
joyment. I suppose your dullness arises from 
that very fact that you are all ladies.” 

“So we are; but we are not all dull,” retorts 


THE PICNIC. 


177 


Mabel, pertly. “ I think we are having a splendid 
time, do n’t you, Jean ? ” 

“Yes. If it were not for one drawback, my 
contentment would be perfect.” 

The young man, stretched at full length on the 
grass, is conscious of a savage desire to know what 
the drawback is. 

“I am glad I haven’t Mrs. Erwin and Nettie 
on my conscience,” observes Ruth, shaking her 
head. “ I betrayed the rest of these unfortunates 
into coming, and every time one of them looks a 
little gloomy, I feel it as a personal reproach. ” 

“Then I am glad, for your sake, that they do 
not look so forbidding as Nettie does,” says Ken- 
neth, pleasantly, while he strokes the girl’s hand. 

“Don’t!” she says impatiently, snatching it 
away. 

“Come with me,” he says shortly, but not un- 
kindly, rising from the ground and slapping his 
sleeve with his handkerchief. 

Nettie, looking very sulky, rises also. 

“Where is your hat ? ” 

The girl picks up her sun-bonnet. 

“You do not suppose I can walk with a young 

lady who wears that kind of thing ? ” 

M 


178 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


»» 

“You’ll have to, if you walk with me.” 

“Oh, no ; I ’d rather sacrifice myself,” returns 
Kenneth, drawing the shaker on his own head and 
placing his flapping hat on Nettie, who laughs in 
spite of herself. 

“If Nettie and I may he excused, I think a 
short walk will be conducive to her health and hap- 
piness,” says Mr. Dart, then he moves away 
among the trees beside his companion, the ging- 
ham cape of his headgear hanging over his broad 
shoulders. 

“ Well, he is the easiest man I ever saw,” laughs 
Ruth, “ one would believe that he had known us 
all his life.” 

“ Poor Miss Nettie ! I suspect she is about to be 
lectured,” says Jean. 

“Lectured ! Mr. Dart never lectured or repri- 
manded anybody in his life,” declares Mrs. Erwin, 

“ No ? ” Jean elongates the interrogation with 
a significance peculiarly comforting to herself, and 
incomprehensible to every one else. 

Meanwhile Mr. Dart has relieved his chafed 
ears from the sun-bonnet. 

“What is the matter, little girl? TeU us all 
about it,” he says, as soon as they are out of hear- 


THE PICNIC. 


179 


ing, but immediately regrets the question, for the 
uncontrolled child bursts into tears, and walks 
blindly along until she strikes her foot against a 
tree root, and would fall but for the arm that 
catches her. 

“Never mind walking any farther, let us sit 
down, ” which they accordingly do, at the foot of 
an old oak, Nettie’s broad hat being crushed up 
against the tree trunk in the back, and down over 
the tearful face, in front. 

“ Shall we wipe the tears now ? ” asks Mr. Dart, 
teasingly yet gently, as Nettie dives about for her 
pocket, and finds it not. “ Here,” and he tucks his 
silk handkerchief into her hand. 

“ O, Kenneth, how good you are ! ” she exclaims 
wiping her eyes vigorously. “You are the only 
person in the world that cares a straw about 
me.” 

Mr. Dart leans his large blonde head against 
that portion of the tree which the hat is not 
occupying, pulls his moustache, and does not an- 
swer. What the girl says is so true, that words 
will only make the matter worse. 

“ It is so hard for me to realize that you are no 
relation to me, and that Aunt Inez is ; and yet you 


180 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

are my brother in a way, are n’t you ? Your father 
being my mother’s husband, and my mother your 
father’s wife.” 

“A sort of step -neighbor -in -law,” suggests 
Kenneth. 

“If only you were not so much older than I. 
How old is Aunt Inez, Kenneth ? ” 

The gentleman makes a horrified gesture, and 
frowns mysteriously. “My child, how should I 
know ? ” 

Nettie sighs deeply. “O, I am so wretched,” 
she says irrelevantly. 

“What is it? Has the aunt been more trying 
than common ? ” 

“No, just as usual.” 

“What then? Have you been a naughty girl, 
and is your conscience making itself offensive ? ” 

“I’ve been, — O, fshe would call it ill-bred, I sup- 
pose, but that does not trouble me in itself, it is — 
Kenneth, have you ever been in love ? ” 

Mr. Dart smiles broadly at this sudden question. 

“Isn’t that rather a precocious thought for a 
person of your tender years ? ” 

“No, because I’m in it myself.” 

“In what? love?” 


THE PICNIC. 


181 


‘‘Yes, and what makes me so unhappy is that 
I’m not loved back.” 

Kenneth looks in displeased, incredulous sur- 
prise at the plain face under the broad hat. The 
swollen eyes return his gaze pathetically. 

“And the worst of it is, when I hate her she 
won’t hate back.” 

Nettie’s companion bursts into a hearty laugh. 

“Who is the hard-hearted wretch?” he asks. 

“Why, Miss Ivory, of course,” returns the girl, 
with a sublime ignoring of every other possible 
she. 

“And can nothing be done in so desperate a 
case ? ” inquires Mr. Dart with a whimsical smile. 
“I should think means might be devised to 
move her.” 

“But you have never been in love with Miss 
Ivory,” returns Nettie, with sententious hopeless- 
ness. 

“ I’m glad to have that settled, but if I were in 
love with her,” and the young man clasps his 
hands behind his head and leans back until he rests 
upon the grass, “I can not think my ambition 
would be to have her hate me. ” 

“Yes, it would. You would enough rather 


182 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 




Bhe’d hate you, than be totally indifferent. O, I 
can’t hear her indifference. ” 

“ Who is that Miss Waite, to whom Miss Ivory 
seems so devoted ? ” asks Kenneth, slipping over 
Nettie’s woes, with reprehensible lightness. 

“She is an old schoolmate of hers, and Miss 
Jean loves her as much as ” 

“ She does n’t love you? ” suggests the other. 

“Yes; and she is very lovely, too, but very 
delicate, and Miss Ivory watches her night and 
day, and keeps her out doors so much that she is 
growing strong. What did you think of her ap- 
pearance, Dr. Dart?” and Nettie leans forward 
with a contagious little chuckle. 

Mr. Dart shakes his head. 

“I am nearly out of the habit of reading peo- 
ple’s symptoms in their faces.” 

“ When will the old business be settled up, and 
leave you free to prescribe little bits of pellets for 
great big diseases ? ” 

“The future only can say. Perhaps by the time 
I am free from attending to the affairs of the estate, 
I shall be too old to make a reputation in mj pro- 
fession.” 

“Never mind, so long as you have a preitv 


THE PICNIC. 


183 


house and let me keep it for you. You have n’t 
forgotten that I am to be your housekeeper ? But 
oh, Kenneth, what shall we do with Aunt Inez ? ” 

“ Do with her ? I hardly think that she expects 
us to do any thing with her. Wait until you have 
been to school a few years more, then we will talk 
of the future.” 

“But I am not going to school any more, Aunt 
Inez says.” 

“Aunt Inez is a ” begins the gentleman, 

angrily, then finishes more cautiously — “is not 
very wise in some matters.” 

“She told me she talked to Miss Ivory about 
it,” pursues Nettie, biting a pine needle. 

“And what was the advice of this wonderful 
young lady ? ” 

“What a question,” says Nettie, shaking her 
head in pity for her companion’s ignorance. 

“It was rather foolish, I admit. There could 
be but one thing to say — girls of sixteen should 
not leave school. ” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I mean the idea of 
your thinking that Miss Ivory would condescend to 
advise with Aunt Inez, and especially about me. 
If Miss Ivory should say it was best^” continues 


184 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

the girl, impetuously, “I'd go to school forever. 
But here,” with an excited gesture, “ here is Miss 
Ivory’s whole attitude to us — she tolerates Aunt 
Inez ; she ignores me. She always gets away from 
Aunt Inez as soon as she can politely ; but she is 
never aware of my presence. Any way,” pursues 
Nettie, after a pause, “ I do n’t mean to go back to 
school again. I ’m tired of it. I ’m going to come 
out, next Winter. Aunt Inez says she’ll ‘ chape’one’ 
me, if I ’ll be ‘ ve'y ’ good.” 

The excellent imitation of Mrs. Erwin’s manner 
does not seem to amuse Kenneth Dart. 

“How old are you — exactly?” he asks ab- 
ruptly. 

“ Sixteen, next October.” 

“I thought so. We will go back now,” he 
says, and, as if to change the subject, goes on : 
“ It must be noon, and I am sensibly attracted by 
those fish.” 

Nettie raises her eyes, questioningly. 

“Help me up,” she says, ofiering her square 
little hand. 

Kenneth obe3^s. 

“I am out of your favor, too. Oh, dear!” 
she says, moving along beside him. 


THE PICNIC. 


185 . 


“Why do n’t you talk?” she asks after a long 
minute of silence. 

“lam afraid you could n’t understand me.” 

“ Why not ? I have never been unable to do so 
yet.” 

“ I know ; but I imagined your common sense 
might be failing you. ” 

“Because I said that about going to school? 
Well,” with a long sigh, “ I suppose I must go back. 
I would rather displease Aunt Inez than you.” 

“ Poor child ! ” 

Nettie looks up suddenly, but there is no sar- 
casm in the grave face. 

“lam sorry I can not do more for you.” 

“Why, you do every thing for me- — every 
thing, Kenneth,” and the girl impulsively clasps 
her hands around her companion’s arm, and gives 
it an affectionate squeeze. 

Mr. Dart smiles slightly. “Do I rival Miss 
Ivory in your affections ? ” 

“You come first always — always; but I was 
never treated as she treats me. You know thai 
people have always considered me > — well, smart, ’ 
finishes Nettie, somewhat timidly. 

The other nods. 

8 * 


186 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 




‘‘And she would consider me shocking, if she 
considered me at all. She thinks I am ill-bred. I 
heard her tell Miss Exeter so.” 

Kenneth mutters something under his breath, 
and frowns, while the young girl pulls down the 
sides of her hat, and looks up from under its brim 
to see the effect of her words. 

“ And Miss Ivory herself never does any thing 
foolish, or iU-mannered, or gushing, or — or un- 
wise in any way,” she continues. 

“ Happy Miss Ivory ! ” ejaculates Kenneth, a 
smile following the frown. 

“ So one can not find fault with her.” 

“ It does take considerable daring to find fault 
with her. True for you. Miss Dart.” 

“ Why, what do you know about it ? ” 

“Very little ; but I should imagine that she 
would resent such a thing bitterly. Those eyes of 
her’s now, of what withering glances eyes of that 
color are capable,” returns the young man, think- 
ing of the unexpected meeting on the river 
bank, where he encountered such a glance from 
brown eyes in the depths of a bonnet like this 
one now swinging from his hand. “ And is 
Vour opinion of this young lady’s perfections 


THE PICNIC. 


187 


shared by the other members of the house- 
hold?” 

“O, yes. She’s very rich, you know — of 
course you did n’t know it, but she is, very — 
and she is very generous, and does lots of good 
with her money.” 

“Ah, philanthropic. Yes ? ” 

“Well, what are you smiling about? Don’t 
you believe it ? She has just been helping Miss 
Bounce’s sister, giving her money and things. 
She’s so beautifully impulsive.” 

“I thought I saw that in her face,” says Mr. 
Dart, with the same amused smile. 

“Well, they like her; some of them for hei 
money, and because she’s stylish and all that ; but 1 
love her just because she is herself, and so do Miss 
Exeter and Miss Waite.” 

“Then the heiress has three true lovers at 
lea^t,” says Mr. Dart. “Never mind, little girl, 
go back to school when the time comes, and when 
you come out a young lady, see if Miss Ivory can 
not appreciate you better.” 

“Poor little thing,” he thinks, “what would I 
not give to know how to do more for her,” and for 
the hundredth time, groans in spirit over the 


188 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


responsibility that has insensibly come to rest 
entirely upon him, of the guardianship of this 
strange, wayward girl. “If only Inez were a 
different woman ! ” the unspoken wish is inter- 
rupted by the widow’s familiar voice. 

“ There you are. The fish are done and we are 
only waiting for you.” 

“Don’t wait another moment, then, I am more 
than ready. What a handsome spread ! I have 
not seen one which so appealed to my finer feelings 
since I left Harvard,” returns Mr. Dart as he enters 
the grassy clearing. 

“Make a bow, Jean,” suggests Kuth. 

“ No, indeed, I shall pass the compliment along 
to Miss Bounce, just as soon as we get home. You 
se^ by this, how well we fare at the Bed Farm, 
Mr. Dart,” says Jean, easily, and happily for the 
gentleman, he can not see below the fair, cool 
surface. 

“ Wliat a pity Miss Bounce will not take me 
in,” he replies. 

“I’ll ask her, if you like,” offers Mrs. Erwin, 
eagerly. 

“No use, it would be hopeless,” and Mr. Dart 
shakes his blonde head mournfully. “ I’m a great 


THE PICNIC. 


189 


reader of character, and Miss Bounce’s face says, 
— Jabe, what are you grinning at? ” 

“I want to hear what her face says,” replies 
Jdbe nowise abashed. 

“ And we want those fish. Miss Ivory, how are 
we going to serve three trout on a preserve dish ? 
I put it to you.” 

“We are not going to try. See, we came pre- 
pared for any emergency. There is a large plate, I 
can not imagine why Miss Bounce put it in, unless 
she expecced us to meet you. ” 

“Which is not probable, or she would hardly 
have allowed you to come. Now if you will all be 
seated, I will show you what I can do as a waiter.” 

“No, indeed, I am going to wait on table my- 
self,” asserts Ruth, “ I have a particular genius in 
that line.” 

“In that case I yield with pleasure, for I am 
not at all confident of my powers, beside, I am 
very hungry. One can not accustom one’s internal 
economy, to apple pie, doughnuts, and bean stew 
for breakfast, all at once. ” 

“That’s Aunt Allen all over. She does make 
the wust coffee,” chuckles Jabe to himself, but Mr. 
Dart overhears the gleeful soliloquy. 


190 


“NO GENTLEMEN.'’ 


“ Young man,” he says severely, “if you repeat 
one word that you hear said to-day, you die at sun 
rise ! Do you understand ? ” 

Jahe nods knowingly. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, lunch is served,” Kuth 
announces. “ Jabe, you sit still and I’ll wait on 
you too,” and so saying, she passes plates, napkins 
and sandwiches, with great empresBement. 

“ Ugh ! There’s a nasty cricket on my dress,” 
exclaims Mrs. Erwin, with a vigorous shake of her 
skirt. 

“Really, this is extremely pleasant,” declares 
Mr. Dart, placing himself between Jean and Bar- 
bara. 

“ I wonder what I had for breakfast that gi’ me 
such an appetite,” muses Jabe. 


THE ACCIDENT. 


191 


CHAPTER XI. 

0 

THE ACCIDENT. 

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud. 

— Tennyson. 

“He is handsome, very, Mrs. Erwin,” says 
Polly Gunther. 

“And not only that, but he has such an air, 
such a style about him. I used to like to have him 
with my husband and myself, when we were 
out anywhere. Mr. Erwin loved him like a 
younger brother, — I was many years younger than 
Mr. Erwin, myself.” 

“Yes, it brightened matters decidedly to have 
him at the picnic, and how suddenly he appeared ; 
quite as if by magic.” 

“ And just in time too. That wicked niece of 
mine ! I hav’n’t forgiven her yet, for the way she 
talked to me yesterday. It does seem as if the 
evil one possessed her occasionally, and at such 
times, no one but Mr. Dart can have any control 
over her.” 


192 


“NO GENTLEMEN.' 




“lam sure you are too patient with her,” mur- 
murs Polly. 

“Did you hear what she said about my wig? ” 
asks the widow, flushing at the remembrance. 
“Of course nearly every lady wears a ‘wave’ 
sometimes, to save her own hair, especially in Sum- 
mer,” and Mrs. Erwin touches the front of her 
elaborate coifiure. 

“It was scandalous,” declares Miss Gun- 
ther. 

The two friends are sitting at one of Miss 
Bounce’s front parlor windows, watching the pair 
of saddle horses, who, under Jabe’s superinten- 
dence, are awaiting their riders. 

“ Mr. Dart is a ve’y accomplished man of busi- 
ness too,” continues Mrs. Erwin, “ and he needs 
to be, for his father left his afiairs in a dreadful 
muddle. My friend is a physician by profession, 
although few call him by his title, for he has never 
practiced regularly.” 

“I wonder if that is why he looked so intently 
at Barbara. I thought he must be much impressed 
by her.” 

“Very possibly. There they come,” as Jean 
and Barbara pass down the stairs in their habits. 


THE ACCIDENT. 


193 


“how well Miss Waite looks, she must be improve 
ing fast.” 

“How well Jean looks,” adds Polly, discon- 
tentedly, “the brunette style always appears well 
in riding costume. What a pity there’s no one to 
see her, and how she always laughs and talks with 
Barbara. There ! they see us.” 

So the two nod and smile at the departing riders, 
who bow, and are gone. 

“There might be some one to see her if Mr. 
Dart had n’t been so obstinate. I could n’t get it out 
of him whether he intended to be in the village 
long or not, you know men are so uncommunica- 
tive. I asked him to come out here and call upon 
us to-day, but he answered me ve’y unsatisfactorily. ” 

Jean and Barbara canter over the well - known 
roads, enjoying the late Summer afternoon, and 
one another’s society. Much against Jean’s will, 
their conversation is, for a time, upon the same 
subject which is being agitated in the parlor at 
home. 

“ Can you imagine Mr. Dart, Mrs. Erwin’s hus- 
band?” asks Barbara, rather breathlessly, not- 
withstanding the easy motion of her well - trained 
horse. 

N 


9 


194 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“ Yes ; why not ? Mrs. Erwin is a woman who 
requires considerable waiting upon, and he looks 
well able to take care of her,” returns Jean. 

“The idea ! Why, she is so much older than 
he, it is absurd.” 

“Well, B., I would forbid the bans. Why 
don’t you ? ” 

“I shall never be called upon to do so. He 
will never marry her, never,” asserts Barbara de- 
cidedly. 

“ That matter is settled then,” says Miss Ivory. 
“ How sweet the air is, Barbara,” she continues, 
inhaling long breaths, “don’t you hope Miss 
Bounce will get in a crop of hay while we’re here ?” 

“ Yes,” returns Barbara, absently. “ Jean, he’ll 
marry her for Nettie’s sake, if at all.” 

“Mousie, you are a wonderful person to learn 
so much about a stranger in a few hours.” 

“ Not at all, I sat by Mrs. Erwin coming home 
from the picnic, and she told me a great deal. 
Jean, I pity that young man, placed in such an un- 
comfortable position, don’t you ? ” 

“Not at all, B., he probably enjoys thoroughly 
having Miss Nettie to order about,” replies Jean 
thinking of the fervent though fleeting pity she 


THE ACCIDENT. 


195 


once bestowed upon the young man in question. 
“ I am not so tender-hearted as you.” 

‘‘Indeed you are not,” asserts the other, so 
earnestly that Jean turns to her in surprise. 

“ To say that you are not tender-hearted does 
not come very well from me, does it, Jean ? ” con- 
tinues Barbara deprecatingly, “but it does seem 
to me you are very hard upon Nettie Dart, I am 
sure you do not realize how that girl admires you, 
or you would turn your influence to some account. 
She never takes her eyes off you, when you are in 
the room with her.” 

“ Yes, I know,” returns Jean ; “I have thought 
it all over, but I always come to the same conclu- 
sion, which is that if it is not sufficient for her to 
see how her behavior appears to the people she 
admires, any change which she might make at my, 
or any one’s, request, would be only temporary, 
and hardly worth while. I think she feels that I 
have injured her ; but it seems strange to me that 
you believe so too. What can I do ? I feel no 
affection for one who is constantly offending my 
taste, and who is in no way interesting to me ; and 
I can not see why I ought to feign any.” 

Jean speaks so gravely and so decidedly, that 


196 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

Barbara is somewhat shaken in her hitherto fixed 
belief, that her friend has only to undertake to be 
a missionary to Nettie Dart, in order to succeed. 

“I might have known you would think it over, 
and have your own ideas on the subject,” she 
returns ; “still, it would not do you any harm to 
try what a little kindness would do.” 

“ Hear the girl ! ” exclaims Jean. “One might 
think that I had been positively inhuman. Do you 
see that pretty, leafy opening into the woods, Bar- 
bara ? Let us forsake the beaten path, and explore 
a little.” 

“The beaten path is safest, they say,” ob- 
serves Barbara, laughingly, as she follows her com- 
panion’s lead. 

“And what a dull world this would be, if rules 
had no exceptions,” returns Jean, as she enters the 
wood. ‘ ‘ There, B. , is some of that moss that I have 
hunted for every where. I must have some of it. 
Can you pass me ? ” 

For answer Barbara’s horse walks slowly by in 
the narrow path. 

“Now,” says Jean, “you can go on, or wait, 
just as you choose ; but I must secure that 
moss.” 


THE ACCIDENT. 


197 


“Evidently, Fearless prefers going on,” replies 
Barbara. “What does he hear? Oh, I know — 
the river. The dear old thing is thirsty. ” 

“Of course, it is the river,” says Jean, gather- 
ing her habit over one arm. “They say all roads 
lead to Rome. Every cow-path in Pineland leads 
to that absurd little river. I should think it would 
be tied in hard knots, making so many curves and 
twists.” 

“ Au revoir ! ” calls Barbara, farther and farther 
away. “Come as soon as you can.” 

“Yes,” returns Jean, stooping over the moss. 

On the river bank sits Kenneth Dart, persist- 
ently fishing, and, as he has but just arrived and 
thrown his line, he is in full enjoyment of his sur- 
roundings. The long shadows of the trees lie 
across the stream with a darkness which will surely 
entice the fish up to a late luncheon. The fisher- 
man’s patience is not tested so severely as usual, 
and, at a quick, strong pull on his line, he lifts his 
rod with too sudden and energetic a -movement, 
which loses him fish, bait and all. Before he can 
mutter his disappointment, a faint cry causes him 
to look up suddenly, and see Miss Waite and her 
horse making an efiect against the sky, which 


198 


“NO gentlemen/* 

would be rather fine if carved from black marble, 
but which is excessively unpleasant for the timid, 
inexperienced equestrienne. 

The horse and rider have emerged noiselessly 
from the wood, upon the river bank, at the precise 
moment when Mr. Dart whips his slender rod 
up from the water. The startled horse belies his 
name and rears suddenly in terror, while Barbara 
clutches the pommel with both hands. 

“ Oh, Fearless ! ” she exclaims, as the animal 
only lowers his fore feet to dance sidewise, with 
arched neck and distrustful glance at the object of 
his fright. 

“Don’t be alarmed. Miss Waite. Be quiet,” 
says Dart, dropping the rod and coming slowly 
toward her. 

Should the horse attempt to run, his rider would 
suffer from scratches and bruises from the trees, if 
nothing more. 

“Oh, do come quickly!” exclaims Barbara, 
growing very pale, as Fearless, taking excep- 
tion either to Mr. Dart’s extravagantly broad hat, 
or to some other object in the scenery, rears 
slightly again, and dances still further away from 
the pursuer. 


THE ACCIDENT. 


199 


‘‘Whoa — whoa,” calls Kenneth, soothingly. 
“Don’t rein him in too tightly. Miss Waite.” 

The caution is hardly necessary, as Barbara, 
more and more terrified, clings tightly to the pom- 
mel as her only safety, giving Fearless complete 
freedom to gyrate as best suits himself. 

Kenneth is so close as to make a dash at the 
bridle. The horse shakes his head and springs 
away, and Barbara blindly relinquishes her hold on 
the saddle and throws herself in Mr. Dart’s direc- 
tion. 

By good fortune, for her movement is entirely 
unexpected, he catches her. There is a jerk as her 
foot leaves the stirrup. She utters a shrill cry, 
then the young man stands, holding an unconscious 
woman in his arms, while a crackling in the woods 
indicates which direction her steed has taken. 

Meanwhile, Jean has gathered her moss, gazed 
at it lovingly, and is just considering how to trans- 
port it in the safest manner, when a cry of pain 
assails her ears. She raises her head one moment 
in a listening attitude, then drops the moss and 
mounts her horse, using a tall stump for a step. 

“ Barbara ! Barbara ! I am coming ! ” she calls, 
urging her animal along the path. A crackling to 


200 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

the right of her course is speedily followed by 
Fearless, whom she sees through the leaves, com- 
ing at an ever slackening pace, as the obstructions 
in the woods grow denser. 

“Oh, Barbara! where are you?” she cries, in 
a panic. 

“This way,” calls a man’s voice, and, emerging 
from the woods, Jean sees Kenneth Dart on one 
knee, supporting Barbara, unconscious, across the 
other. 

In a flash, Jean understands the situation. Mr. 
Dart, fishing, has in some way frightened Barbara’s 
horse, which has- thrown her ; and as she slips from 
the saddle, she is almost frightened at the wrath 
with which she is filled, against the worker of the 
mischief. 

“Oh! is she dead? Have you killed her?” 
she asks, bending down over her friend, and bring- 
ing her white forehead close to the man’s face. 

“Miss Waite has fainted, that is all,” returns 
Kenneth, lightly ; “ and no wonder, for that absurd 
animal ” 

“What do you mean by talking? Why don’t 
you do something ? ” demands Jean, imperiously, 
taking one of Barbara’s hands. 


THE ACCIDENT. 


201 


Mr. Dart feels strangely bewildered. Why is 
it so difficult to transfer his attention from the 
superb face, instinct with life and animation, to the 
dead one against his breast, and he a physician, too ? 

‘‘Bring some water in my hat. Miss Ivory. 
This is nothing serious. Do not be so alarmed.” 

“'Nothing serious’ — and she looks so dread- 
ful! Give her to me ! I must hold her — poor 
little B. You get the water, and rub her hands, 
and do every thing else you can think of,” and 
unreasonable Jean, seating herself, passes her arm 
around her friend, and draws her into her own lap. 

At the movement, Barbara shivers, groans and 
opens her eyes ; then, with a moan, they close again. 

Kenneth Dart’s face grows serious. “That 
looks bad,” he says. 

“ What looks bad ? what? ” asks Jean, eagerly. 
“ Do hurry ! Wliy do n’t you hurry ? ” 

At this, Kenneth brings the hatful of water, 
and applies it. With returning life, Barbara’s 
moaning recommences. 

“Oh, what is it? what is it, Barbara?” asks 
Jean, before the girl is fairly conscious. 

“This is how it happened. Miss Ivory,” begins 
Dart, as he rubs the hands. “I was ” 


202 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“Yes, oh, yes, I know. You were fishing and 
you frightened her horse.” 

Mr. Dart stares at this prescience. 

“You and I together have killed her,” continues 
Jean, shaking her dark, uncovered head — for her 
hat is with the moss in the forest. 

“ ‘ You and I together,’ ” repeats Mr. Dart, in 
a voice not nearly miserable enough to suit the 
emergency. 

“What is it, dear! Tell me! Tell Jean!” 
coaxes the girl, as the groans grow more pro- 
nounced, and the gray eyes open wider. 

“My foot! oh, my foot!” murmurs Barbara 
— the exclamation a groan in itself. 

“It’s her foot, Mr. Dart ! It is broken ! ” an- 
nounces Jean, jumping straightway at the direst 
possible conclusion. “What shall we do? You 
do n’t know any thing ; neither do I.” 

“ Companions again, any way,” mutters the 
gentleman, turning back the riding-habit in spite 
of the wholesale denunciation, and examining the 
little feet. Thanks to the freedom and careless- 
ness of retired country life, Barbara’s shoes are 
scarcely higher than slippers. No room for ques- 
tion as to which foot has suffered — one of the 


THE ACCIDENT. 


203 


ankles is rapidly swelling to twice the size of its 
mate. 

Barbara jumps as the gentleman examines it 
— all the buried love of his chosen profession 
rising within him.' 

“ How dare you hurt her ? ” exclaims Jean, with 
blazing eyes. “You have done enough to-day, 
I think. Do n’t you touch her foot again.” 

“ No ; it ’s not broken,” says Kenneth, quietly ; 
“ only a sprain.” 

“Yes; I know, my foot was turned in the 
stirrup,” says Barbara, with white lips. “What 
a shocking coward I am about pain ! Thank you 
so much, Mr. Dart, for catching me.” 

“The idea of her thanking him ! ” thinks Jean, 
upon whom the gentleman’s cool ignoring of her 
sharp words has had a subduing effect — and there 
is that now in his face, and in his manner of treat- 
ing the injured foot, which makes her glad of his 
presence. 

“Although, to be sure, if he had n’t been mous- 
ing about here in the first place, we should n’t need 
him now,” she thinks, repenting the temporary 
heresy included in welcoming the presence of 
“Yours Truly,” under any circumstances. 


204 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

‘‘If you can forgive Mr. Dart, perhaps you can 
forgive me, Barbara, for giving you an unsafe 
horse. Oh, you do not know how loaded with 
guilt I feel, Mousie,” and the black head bends 
over the brown one. “ I am always meaning well, 
and doing wrong.” 

As Jean makes this admission, she raises her 
head, and her eyes, with their unshed tears, meet 
Mr. Dart’s. 

She had forgotten his very existence for the mo- 
ment ; but his expression, as he looks upon her, 
calls a deep, hot blush to her face, which dries her 
tears where they stand. 

In that look she confesses to the foreknowledge 
which she has had of him, and he tells her, plain as 
eyes can say, that he believes in her, and under- 
stands her. 

It may be that Jean sees more than this in the 
eloquent look, but she is cool in a moment, all 
the girlish misery gone out of her business-like 
voice. 

“ Could you sit my horse, do you think, B.? ” 

“No, she would suffer too much with the blood 
running into her foot, the wrenched cords are very 
sensitive,” interposes Mr. Dart, decidedly. 


THE ACCroENT. 


205 


‘ ‘ Really ? You speak as one having authority, ” 
says Jean with slight scorn. 

‘‘Yes, because I have it. Dr. Dart, ladies, at 
your service. I will send for my sheepskin if you 
doubt me,” as he sees Jean’s incredulous look. “I 
admit I have dawdled over this matter unwarrant- 
ably, but I will try to make up for it now. Shall 
you or I go back to the farm for a carriage. Miss 
Ivory ? I should suggest that you be the one, for 
I can, in the meantime, be carrying Miss Waite 
through the woods to the road, and some time will 
be saved.” 

It does not need the added request in Barbara’s 
eyes to make Jean assent to this arrangement, and 
she gently removes herself from her position, 
while Mr. Dart helps the sufferer into a sitting pos- 
ture. 

“Be sure I will hurry as fast as possible, dear,” 
she says as she rises. 

Mr. Dart brings the horse, which has been 
quietly cropping grass near by, and without a word 
lifts Jean bodily into the saddle. 

The color flies to her face at the unexpected 
action, but Mr. Dart’s manner and expression are 
so business like, that she is ashamed of herself for 


206 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


having a trivial thought, when the only object in 
both minds should be to save time. 

“ Do not bring Jabe, or else do not return your- 
self, we shall want all the room possible in the car- 
riage.” 

Jean bows slightly, without looking at the 
speaker. 

“Where is your hat, Jean ! Take mine,” says 
Barbara, faintly. 

“No, I will stop for mine in the woods, it will 
not delay me a minute,” and with a parting glance 
full of pity, Jean rides off. 

Mr. Dart looks after her while she is visible. 
Too soon the beautiful silhouette disappears. 

“I wish I could remember exactly what I said 
in that confounded, blundering letter,” he thinks, 
then turns and brings his mind back to duty. 

For Jean to dismount and get her hat, is the 
work of few moments, and she has reached the 
road, and is flying over it at the best speed of 
which her animal is capable. 

“Will the stranger hurt B. very much, carry- 
ing her through the woods?” she wonders; then 
she remembers the ease with which Mr. Dart man- 
aged her own one hundred and thirty odd pounds, 


THE ACCIDENT. 


207 


and decides that Barbara is as well off as may be. 
But the sudden color which this memory calls up, 
dies out of her cheek as she realizes what this acci- 
dent actually means. 

A sprain is more obstinate, if less serious, than 
a break. No one can tell how many weeks must 
pass before Barbara can again take the air and ex- 
ercise which have wrought so good a work. 

Jean’s eyes fill with tears of disappointment and 
resentment. This fair, handsome stranger, with 
his well - trained manner and muscles, has wrought 
for her all the real trouble her short, pleasant life 
has ever known, and her mouth is unpleasantly set, 
as she rides fast and furiously up to the side door 
of the farm house. 

‘‘Miss Bounce,” she says, bursting into the 
kitchen, where that personage is mixing bread, 
“ where is Jabe ? I want Dolly and the carryall 
quick ; Miss Waite has sprained her ankle.” 

“I want to know,” returns Miss Hopeful, 
drawing one hand out of the dough, and rubbing 
her chin with her wrist. 

“Yes, quick; where’s Jabe? ” 

“ I could n’t tell if I was to die. Now ain’t that 


unfort’nate ? ” 


208 “ NO gentlemen/’ 

Jean gives a little stamp as a slight vent for her 
feelings. 

“Don’t you know how to harness, Miss 
Bounce ? ” 

“Why, yes, of course.” 

‘ ‘ Then come quick ; what are you waiting for ? ” 

“How dreadful excitable you be. Miss Avery ; 
do let me git the dough off my hands.” 

But before that task is fairly accomplished, Jean 
has dragged her hostess out to the red barn, 
whither her horse has preceded her. 

“ O, this great, clumsy skirt! I can hardly move 
in it, but I mustn’t take time to change it ; do 
hurry. Miss Bounce. Where are the others ? ” 

“I donno I’m sure. They went off to €nd 
huckleberries, I believe,” replies Miss Bounce, 
slipping the harness over patient Dolly’s head, and 
decorating the same with bits of dough, while Jean 
facilitates matters by buckling straps in the wrong 
places. 

Dolly looks around in mild surprise at the unu- 
sual proceedings. 

“There, I am sure that will do. Miss Bounce,” 
says Jean, at last. 

“I declare, seems if I’d forgot how to hameaa 


THE ACCIDENT. 


209 


after all, or else you’ve flustered me so I ain’t got 
my right wits,” returns Miss Hopeful. “She’s 
hitched to the carryall, an’ that’s about all you can 
say for it,” she continues, as Jean jumps in and 
takes the reins, and Dolly moves majestically out 
of the barn, utterly refusing to be hurried until 
the inclined plane is passed, and she is trotting 
over level ground. 

“It’s borne in on me that there’s somethin’ 
wrong with poor Doll’s head -gear,” muses Miss 
Bounce, going slowly back to the house. “I’m 
mistaken, or else she’s bein’ driven by one ear. 
O, Summer boarders is a means o’ grace some- 
times, an’ no mistake.” 

Upon arriving at the entrance to the woods, 
Jean finds Mr. Dart and Barbara waiting, the 
latter with her hand pressed tightly over her eyes. 

“Poor young lady, a sprained ankle is a wretch- 
ed thing,” declares Mr. Dart, in acknowledgement 
of Barbara’s sufiering, “but we will soon have you 
comfortable I hope.” 

Jean’s face is hard and dark, all the sunlight of 
its brilliant, mobile expression, gone under the 
cloud of her displeasure. She says nothing, but 
standing up in the front of the conveyance, pulls 
O 9* 


210 


“NO GENTLEMEN.' 


9? 


the movable front seat toward her as far as possh 
ble. Even she can not resist a passing admiration 
of the tender strength with which her foe gathers 
Barbara in his arms, and places her on the ragged 
cushion at the back of the carriage. It is as easily 
done as though she were a baby in long clothes, 
instead of a young lady in a riding habit, but the 
irrepressible, faint cry which the sufferer utters, 
hardens her again. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Dart,” says Jean, superbly, 
taking the reins and seating herself, preparatory 
to moving off. 

“No, no, you mustn’t sit down. Miss Ivory, or 
that is, not on that seat ; get out of the carriage a 
moment please.” 

Jean looks disdainfully at the speaker. “ Will 
nothing teach the odious man his true position,” 
she wonders, “or is he incapable of shame?” 
Barbara’s moans confuse her, however, and know- 
ing nothing better to do, she obeys. 

“There, we will fold the seat up close against 
the dashboard, so,” says Mr. Dart, pleasantly, 
“ and you and I can sit right in the bottom of this 
— a family ark.” 

“ You ! There is no occasion for your coming 


THE ACCIDENT. 


211 


with us, Mr. Dart,” says Jean, with dignity, ‘‘I 
should he obliged to you, however, if you would 
go for the doctor.” 

“I will do better than that for you, I will go 
with you myself. I was involuntarily responsible 
for the accident — under you, of course,” here 
Jean blushes angrily, ‘‘and it is incumbent upon 
me to do all I can to remedy it. I will get in first, 
to support the poor foot, and you — you will have 
CO sit where you can. Miss Ivory, and drive.” 

Jean is stupefied at the pleasant assurance of 
these words, and stands helplessly watching the 
carrying out of the programme. 

“You are so kind,” says Barbara, with a grate- 
ful glance at Mr. Dart, as the arrangement is per- 
fected. 

Jean feels herself in a decided minority, and 
humbly mounting into the vehicle, makes herself 
as small as possible on the floor beside the young 
physician, who, as Dolly turns slowly about, sings 
softly : 

“ ‘ ’T was in a low-baeked car.’ ” 

Poor, suffering Barbara giggles hysterically. 

“ It ’s the funniest thing I ever saw,” she says, 
half crying. “Ruth would die laughing, to see 


212 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

US, I am SO exactly like a man with the gout ; and 
you two look perfectly comical. Do n’t laugh, Dr. 
Dart ! ” with an imploring gesture. “You shake 
me worse than the carriage. ” 

“Pardon me ; I will not. How blessed we are 
in having so soft a road and careful a driver ; but 
what is the matter with your high-mettled steed. 
Miss Ivory? Do they raise one-eared horses in 
this part of the country ? ” 

Jean bites her lip. Some narrow strap, with 
an unknown name, has strayed from the path of 
duty, and is pinioning one of Dolly’s ears tight to 
her head, while the old mare appears in a general 
way to be in undress uniform ; but neither this nor 
any thing else will induce Jean to smile, so, finally 
settling into solemn silence, the ambulance draws 
up to the farm-house door, bringing, for the first 
time in many years of the carryall’s experience* 
a man to the Red Farm. 


DR. DART. 


213 


CHAPTER XII. 

DR. DART. 

The sun has hid its rays. — A delaide Proctor. 

‘‘Just as of old ; just as of old,” sings Ruth ; 
then adds, “that is, with a difference, inasmuch as 
one of our number is hors de combat. How exactly 
like our self-sacrificing Barbara, to sprain her ankle 
and give us a little excitement.” 

The graduating class is once again by itself, as 
Mrs. Erwin and Nettie have driven to Pineland 
Centre, on some errand connected with the latter’s 
wardrobe. 

Miss Bounce’s parlor is desecrated now by even 
more common use than ever before. In the middle 
of the room is a lounge, placed in the most favor- 
able position to catch possible breezes, and upon 
this lounge half lies and half sits Barbara Waite, 
the slowly improving foot supported upon a chair. 

“lam afraid I did n’t consider your happiness 
when I sprained my ankle,” returns Barbara. “ To 
think that it is only three days since ! By the way, 


214 


“]SrO GENTLEMEN.” 

Jean,” turning to her friend, who is seated on the 
floor, leaning her head against the casement of the 
window, have not asked what became of Fear- 
less.” 

“ He has gone back to the city, without a char- 
acter. I believe Mr. Dart found him sampling 
berries in the woods, not far from the scene of your 
adventure. I wish he had tried some deadly-night- 
shade.” 

‘‘ I do not think the poor creature behaved very 
badly,” says Barbara. “No wonder he was fright- 
ened at the whirr of that rod in the stillness ! It 
would be just as sensible to blame Dr. Dart,” — 
Barbara is the only one of the little circle who 
always gives her new friend the benefit of his title 
— “ and say he ought not to have been there, fish- 
ing.” 

“So I do,” returns Jean, “or, at least, he has 
no right to wear a hat which secludes him com- 
pletely from every thing in nature but his fishing 
tackle.” 

“There was no one to blame but myself,” 
asserts Barbara, smiling. “I was such a coward 
that I acted like a crazy person, jumping from the 
saddle as I did, instead of letting Fearless carry me 


DE. DAET. 


215 


into the woods, Of course, he could n’t have gone 
far.” 

“You wouldn’t have gone far with him, at all 
events,” says Mabel. “The branch of some tree 
would have scraped you off, speedily.” 

“ Well, I did it ; and now I have to pay for it,” 
says Barbara, sighing. 

“Of course, it was all your fault,” says Jean, 
ironically. 

“ Never mind the modus operand^'’'* says Kuth, 
grandly. “ B. is a heroine. She has accomplished 
the grand object, and introduced a gentleman in 
our midst. There is somebody to dress up for, 
afternoons. There is somebody to group ourselves 
for, as we anxiously watch Barbara’s foot being 
unrolled, gaze upon its astonishing size and beau- 
tiful rainbow tints a minute, then view the bandag- 
ing process until it is done up again as snugly as 
a mummy, when we gradually relax and ask the 
^doctor innocent questions. How long do you 
think you can keep it up, Barbara ? What consid- 
eration would tempt you ” 

“Nothing shall tempt me to let you all stay in 
the room to-day,” laughs Barbara. 

“ Pshaw, B. ! You do n’t mean to say that you 


216 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

are going to be as unkind as that ? Why, look at 
my toilet ! ” and Kuth spreads out her gray or- 
gandie, covered with tiny bunches of pale blue. 
“View these crimps ! I haven’t moved for a 
quarter of an hour, for fear something should 
happen to them.” 

Barbara shakes her head firmly. 

“ No, ma’am ; no one but Jean shall stay with 
me.” 

“Oh!” exclaims Kuth, raising her eyebrows 
with an enlightened air. “ There is a horrible slang 
expression which adequately describes this affair. 
It is evidently a pre-arranged occurrence. Barbara 
and Jean arranged it all the day of the picnic — of 
course they did ; and now they intend to monopo- 
lize the result.” 

Jean smiles — half contemptuously, but half 
sadly. No amount of Ruth’s ready nonsense can 
alter the fact that Barbara has relapsed into paleness 
and lassitude. It seems, even, that she has grown 
visibly thinner in these two suffering days. What 
kind of preparation is this for the Winter of labor 
before her ? Wliat report will Jean carry back to 
the patient, waiting mother, in the heated city be- 
yond? 


DR. DART. 


217 


“Always meaning well, and doing wrong,” she 
thinks ; “taking it upon myself to bring Barbara 
out here, and then making her ride a horse I could 
not be sure of.” 

“Jean, I’m going to tell the girls about our 
— you know,” continues Ruth, with mysterious 
significance, interrupting her friend’s remorseful 
meditations. 

“ Are you ? That ’s nice ! I want to hear, too, 
for I donH know at all,” returns the girl, languidly. 

“ There, girls, does n’t Jean look positively ori- 
ental in that position ? Do n’t move your head — - 
there, I thought I could revive you ! ” as Jean 
straightens up and faces her, “Don’t be so far 
away, my dear ! ” 

“You see, girls, Jean and I met Mr. Dart once 
before, in the woods. He was fishing ; we, explor- 
ing. He assisted us to cross the creek on the rocks 
— that is, he assisted me. Jean crossed by herself. 
Didn’t you, Jean?” and Ruth rocks to and fro, 
and laughs gleefully at the remembrance ; then, as 
Jean does not smile, “I believe you are going to 
be a disciple of the Bounce, Jean, a regular man- 
hater. Did n’t dear old Hopeful look petrified 

when Mr. Dart brought Barbara in here ? ” 

10 


218 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“But how kind she was,” puts in Barb*ira. 
“She took my head right down on her shoul- 
der.” 

“Yes! Wasn’t it just about as luxurious as 
resting on a picket fence ? ” inquires Kuth. “But 
when she learned that Mr. Dart was a physician, 
she had to stand it, although she did put in a plea 
for the village doctor, to which no one paid any 
attention.” 

“There ’s the carriage,” announces the hitherto 
silent Polly, from the window. “There is some 
one beside Jabe on the front seat. It’s — no, it 
is n’t — yes, it is Mr. Dart. ” 

“I’ll warrant,” says Ruth, coming discreetly 
near and peering around the edge of the window, 
“ Mrs. Erwin has probably searched the highways 
and by-ways for him.” 

“And who, I wonder, has a better right 1 ” re- 
torts Polly. “ I think myself it was very thought- 
ful of her to bring him, when she knew he had to 
come any way.” 

“Excellent -hearted girl!” says Ruth, patting 
Polly’s shoulder, patronizingly, “ always stand up 
for the oppressed.” 

“ Pooh ! Do n’t be silly ! Of course, Mrs. En 


DE. DART. ‘219 

win need not stand upon ceremony with the man 
she is going to marry.” 

“Guard against exaggeration, Polly. They ’re 
not engaged. I asked her, point-blank, this morn- 
ing ; ” and with this, Ruth leaves the room and 
goes out to meet the new-comers. 

“ And how is my patient, my victim. Miss Ex- 
eter ? ” asks the young doctor, as he hands Mrs. 
Erwin and Nettie from the carriage. 

“Your patient victim is better, I think; but 
there is not much to judge by. She is in the usual 
chronic dread lest some one should touch the chair 
her foot is in, and is very sweet about having to 
keep still.” 

“ Dear me ! I do n’t call that much of a virtue, 
this weather,” says Mrs. Erwin, who is peevishly 
jealous already of Barbara and her ankle, and quite 
disposed to consider the accident a carefully - set 
trap into which her very dear friend has fallen, 
with generous short - sightedness. 

“I will go in and see for myself,” says Dr. 
Dart, passing into the house. 

Mrs. Erwin turns to Ruth, leaning, tall and 
graceful, against one of the slim, old-fashioned 
pillars which support the roof of the portico. 


220 


“NO GENTLEMEN 

“ I should like to ask you, Miss Exeter,” she 
says fretfully, ‘‘if you do not consider Mr. Dart 
dreadfully Quixotic, to insist upon remaining away 
from business, solely to attend to that trifling 
sprain, as if the doctor here would not answer 
quite as well ? It is the most absurd thing I ever 
heard of.” 

Ruth turns to Jabe who is slowly transferring 
the widow’s packages from the carriage to the 
piazza. 

“How is that, Jabe? Is the doctor here ‘A, 
No. 1, on bones ? ” 

Jabe shakes his head. 

“ Donno much about him. Do n’t believe he ’s 
so good as our doctor t’ hum. Our folks thinks 
they ain’t nobody like him. Once when I was a 
little feller, I tumbled out ’n a winder an’ put my 
shoulder out o’ jint. My ! how my father did 
make tracks for Dr. Stickby ! ” 

“And did he hurt you, pulling it into place ? ” 

“No ; ’cause afore he ’d had time to git there, 
I ’d tumbled out ’n the same winder, an’ snapped 
it in myself. ” 

Ruth’s merry laugh ofiends Mrs. Erwin’s ears. 

“You were like the bramble-bush man, Jabe.” 


DR. DART. 


221 


“lam surprised to see Miss Waite allow such 
a sacrifice,” pursues the widow, sternly, as Jabe 
and the carryall move toward the barn. 

“Stuff and nonsense. Aunt Inez,” remarks 
Nettie, untwisting a closed morning - glory, “what 
if it had been your ankle ? ” 

“I hope that would be a different thing,” re- 
turns Mrs. Erwin, with dignity. 

“Yes ; it would be a much larger thing,” assents 
the girl, wickedly. 

Ruth hurries to intercept any reproof from the 
vexed widow. 

“I think it can hardly be a great sacrifice for 
your friend, so long as he intends remaining here 
in any case. One can not fish all the time.” 

“Naturally, you look at the case from your 
standpoint, and are willing that your friend should 
have the best of every thing,” returns Mrs. Erwin, 
gathering up her parcels, “and, naturally, I look 
out for Mr. Dart, and am ve’y sorry to see him 
placed in so uncomfortable a position ; ” and, 
speaking with considerable heat, Mrs. Erwin trails 
into the house, with an all - pervading sense of in- 
jury upon her. She directs one passing, scathing 
glance at the closed door of the parlor, and moves 


222 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


» 

up stairs, intending to make herself altogether 
lovely, ready to see her dear friend at tea. 

Meanwhile, Dr. Dart has been making his pro- 
fessional visit — Polly and Mabel leaving the room 
as he enters it. 

He shakes hands with Barbara, and bows to 
Jean, whose attitude and manner invite nothing 
less formal. 

“I wish I could take this house up and set it 
down on the seashore, or among the mountains,” 
he says, drawing his handkerchief across his fore- 
head, and seating himself by Barbara’s couch, be- 
hind which stands Jean, statuesque and cool, but 
flushing at this speech. 

“ It would have been better for Barbara, — Miss 
Waite should have gone to the mountains, should 
she not ? ” she asks, her dark eyes the more anx- 
ious and eager, that the invalid can not see 
them. 

Kenneth Dart meets their steady, questioning 
light, and strives to look wisely professional, and 
nothing more. It is a question with him for one 
moment, if he will not reply strongly in the afllrm- 
ative, and make Jean feel that she has been unwise 
— rightly conjecturing that inasmuch as he appears 


DR. DART. 


223 


to understand Barbara’s condition, in just so 
much will he gain importance in the opinion of her 
devoted nurse. 

Only for a moment, he hesitates ; then wonders 
at himself for admitting for one instant a thought 
which could give pain to the sensitive soul looking 
at him so self-forgetfully. 

“ The Red Farm would have been a delightfully 
healthful spot for Miss Waite, if it had not been for 
the dangerous characters prowling about the river,” 
he answers lightly. ‘‘I assure you, the fish are 
enjoying a holiday from me, now. How is the foot, 
to-day ? ” 

‘‘Getting on, I think,” replies Barbara, bright- 
ly. “It hurts me dreadfully to move it, so I 
move it a good deal.” 

“Well, it’s all a matter of taste,” returns Dr. 
Dart, smiling, and taking from the hand-bag he 
carries, a bottle and roll of linen. “I think, 
under those circumstances, I should keep my foot 
still.” 

Jean watches his quick, neat movements, and 
thinks the position a decidedly strange one. 

“He does n’t look at all like a doctor,” she de- 
cides, “with that short - cropped hair and mous- 


224 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

tache, so well shaped as to be nearly dandified. 
Perhaps he is an imposter. How do we know ? ” 
she questions, sternly, being entirely convinced all 
the time to the contrary. “ By his own confession 
he is not a regular practitioner, and I am behaving 
badly to Barbara in not insisting upon her having 
better advice ; ” and thus fortified, she is about to 
enter upon the subject with her usual alarming 
frankness, when the young man himself speaks. 

‘‘Be good enough to hold this for me. Miss 
Ivory,” he says ; “I have wet this bandage, and 
have n’t any place to lay it ; ” and Jean comes 
around the foot of the couch, and stands beside 
him, with a countenance not suggestive of meek- 
ness. 

“Are you quite sure you understand what is the 
best thing to do in this case, Mr. Dart? Yon 
surely can have had but little experience,” she says. 

Dr. Dart looks up quickly from the white handa 
across which he has laid the linen, and Jean’s eyes 
meet his searching, amused gaze. 

“Are references required. Miss Ivory?” he 
asks smiling ; then goes about his work gravely 
ancf deftly, while Jean grows hot and angry. 

“Unless Miss Waite improves fast,” she begins 


DR. DART. 


225 


— but a surprised, reproachful glance from Bar- 
bara checks her. 

“I understand,” says Kenneth, slowly, all his 
attention fixed on the rainbow tints to which Ruth 
has referred, “unless we can cure this sprain 
among us, we are to have a conclave of the most 
skillful surgeons in Boston, to sit upon it. ” 

“ Oh, dreadful ! ” laughs Barbara, uncomfort- 
ably, wishing to turn the matter oflT as a joke, 
while Jean again feels ridiculed and humiliated, 
and wonders why this stranger has such power to 
irritate her. 

“You see. Miss Waite, I feel as if I could let no 
one else attend you through this troublesome 
period, for I am so very sorry to have caused the 
ruin of your Summer’s pleasure.” 

“You did not. Dr. Dart,” protests Barbara, 
earnestly ; “ and, believe me, I am very grateful 
to you for not leaving me to the mercies of a 
country practitioner. ” 

Jean feels excessively uncomfortable, and the 
beautiful color which is a true brunette’s preroga-; 
tive, glows in her cheeks. 

Dr. Dart takes no further notice of her. She 

has served his purpose as a table, and the bandag- 
P 


226 


“no gentlemen.” 

ing over, is allowed to return to her old position 
by the window. 

“You have never been very strong at best, I 
judge. Miss Waite ? ” 

“No. My father died of consumption, and I 
am afraid I have a tendency that way,” replies Bar- 
bara, quietly. 

Jean does not trust herself to look in the direc- 
tion of the speakers. It is the first time she has 
heard Barbara speak of her health, and her heart 
sinks, heavy as lead within her. 

“Ah? Then you should be glad that you be- 
long to a generation which knows how to foil that 
arch-enemy,” returns the doctor, brightly. “ I 
dare say your school life has been too confining 
for you, but that is over now.” 

“No, I must teach in the Fall,” says Barbara, 
with her perilously clear gray eyes fixed intently 
on the other’s face, which she sees foreshortened 
as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his 
knees, and his chin upon his intertwined fingers. 
“How will that kind of life do for me? Can 1 
observe such rules as to be able to bear it a long 
time ? ” 

“I do not know you well, yet, but I do not 


DR. DART. 


227 


think you are very ill, Miss Waite. I think you 
may take a bright view of your future.” 

Barbara looks down at her folded hands. 

‘•I saw my father die,” she says simply. 

Jean’s eyes are swimming. She could bless the 
young physician for his bright words, ignorant 
though they may be ; and how strange it seems 
to hear Barbara talk so openly to him. Then 
a new thought flits through Jean’s excited 
mind. 

How beautiful it would be for Barbara to marry 
this man, and how natural for him to love her and 
shield her. She feels that in that case she could 
forgive his ungrateful, priggish return of her char- 
ity, and laugh at the whole matter as rather a good 
joke. She could even talk it over with Barbara’s 
husband, and remind him of the time he so severely 
snubbed her, and forgive him too, for being the 
cause of the accident which had brought about 
such happy results. 

“ I am going to give you some medicine to take 
while you are confined to the house,” speaks the 
doctor again; “it will help to bridge over this 
period of inaction, and counteract bad results. I 
will bring it as soon as possible, and now I must 


228 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

say good-bye, for it would never do to force Miss 
Bounce to invite me to tea.” 

“ Do n’t wait for her invitation, you have ours ; 
won’t that do ? ” asks Barbara, with timely recol- 
lection of Euth’s toilet. 

“Not this time, I think,” then Doctor Dart 
turns as if to address Jean, and finds her looking 
at him with moist eyes and parted lips, and an ex- 
pression in her face that is new to him. Not even 
on that memorable day when she bestowed so eager 
and kind a glance upon him as he passed out of 

D ’s drug store, did the mobile face look so 

beautiful. 

“You will go into the city to-night? Or give 
me the prescription and I will send a messenger. ” 
So the lovely expression is explained. 

Nevertheless Kenneth Dart gazes upon the 
beauty before him for a long moment before he 
answers. 

“No time shall be wasted. Miss Ivory. Good 
afternoon.” 

As he speaks, he half offers his hand. But Jean 
has resented the expressive look, and lowering her 
eyes appears not to see the little friendly motion. 

“ Good afternoon,” she responds in a low tone. 


DR. DART. 


229 


‘‘I shall see you to-morrow? ” smiles Barbara, 
with extra cordiality. 

‘‘ I think so.” Then with a how which includes 
both young ladies, Dr. Dart leaves the room 

“Jean, do you know you looked positively 
hateful when Dr. Dart tried to shake hands with 
you ? What is the matter with you ? ” asks Bar- 
bara, not a little exasperated. “ What a return 
for his kindness ! ” 

Miss Ivory’s face is glowing painfully. As 
usual with this young doctor, she has been left 
with a feeling of awkwardness upon her ; a con- 
sciousness that in proportion to her lights, she has 
been far more ill - bred than was ever the much - 
ignored and looked - down - upon Nettie Dart ; but 
it is no easier for Jean to own herself in the wrong, 
than it is for other people. 

“If I returned your physician’s kindness as it 
deserves, B., I should not be as polite to him as I 
am. But for him, you would be roaming about 
now, getting an appetite and roses.” 

“ WTiite roses, I am afraid ; I can not flatter my- 
self that pink cheeks are ever for me,” returns 
Barbara, cheerfully. 

“A good appetite will perform wonders,” de- 


230 


“ NO GENTLEMEN. 


)> 


dares Jean, ‘‘but no doubt Fearless would have 
done something dreadful, sooner or later, even 
without the intervention of Mr. Dart, and that 
is where my kindness shows to advantage. Scold 
me, Barbara, I deserve it,” and Jean seating her- 
self on the floor by the lounge, leans her head 
against it. 

“ I forbid you to say another word of that kind. 
I am ashamed of you for being so narrow. What 
has become of the ‘ sound mind in a sound body ’ 
that Professor Laramie used to talk about, and 
of which you used to be an example ? To think 
of your cause for complaint against that kind, un- 
selfish gentleman, and the way you treat him ! 
Why, one look at his face is enough. It is the 
cleanest,” here a gasp comes from Jean, “the best 
face, with the steadiest, most expressive, good- 
looking eyes I ever saw. No one but you — ” 

“ O, stop, stop ! No fair, Mousie ! I did n’t 
say you might scold so hard as that,” and Jean 
puts her hands over her bowed head as if to shield 
it from the unwonted storm. The right one 
wears a large emerald, the other is ringjess. 

Barbara pats the hands, so round and white, 
against their black back - ground. 


DR. DART. 


231 


“Very well, see that you behave better in fu- 
ture,” she says. 

Dr. Dart closes the parlor door behind him, 
pained to have discovered Miss Ivory’s aversion to 
himself, aside from any possible use he may be to 
her delicate friend, and some trace of chagrin is 
in his countenance as he steps out upon the piazza, 
where Ruth is still sittin". 

O 

“ Is every thing as it should be ? ” she asks over 
her shoulder. 

“Hardly,” he answers. 

“ What is the matter ? ” asks Ruth, with some 
anxiety. 

“ Mortification has set in. Miss Exeter,” he re- 
plies, with a quizzical smile, “ but not in the ankle, 
that is doing well. Can you inform me of the 
whereabouts of your landlady ? ” 

“I can take you to her, she is picking straw- 
berries,” and Ruth, rising, moves off beside the 
gentleman, watched by three pairs of eyes, Mabel’s 
and Polly’s from the chestnut grove, and Mrs. 
Erwin’s, from behind the closed blinds of her 
apartment. 

“She has been lying in wait for him aU this 
time, I dare say,” thinks the widow, bitterly. 


232 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

She sincerely regrets coming to the Eed Farm, 
and tells herself that if she can only escape with 
her very dear friend before he shall have become 
interested in either of these young ladies, she will 
be doing well. 

Whether Mrs. Erwin expects to marry Kenneth 
Dart or no, would be a hard question for any one 
to answer, herself included. He has been frankly 
kind to her since her husband’s death, and a strong 
link in their intimacy has been the care of Nettie, 
but the widow has never deluded herself into the 
belief that he loves her. Still she feels a proprie- 
torship in him, is proud of him, loves him in her 
way. poor faded little lady, for he has formed the 
greater part of her world during her years of 
mourning and seclusion, and the hardest trial in 
life to her, next to being obliged to give up the 
pomps and vanities of society during another year, 
would be the knowledge that he belonged definitely 
to a younger, prettier woman than herself. 

Back through the orchard Kuth conducts Dr. 
Dart. 

“It is selfish of me not to be helping Miss 
Bounce with her strawberries. Poor thing, I think 
she must be glad this is the last of them, for it 


DR. DART. 


233 


takes her so long to pick enough for us. We have 
quite awful appetites,” admits Ruth. “There she 
is, just across the brook. Do you dare venture 
into her presence unprotected ? ” 

“Yes, if you will wait here, and see that there 
is fair play,” replies the gentleman, striding across 
the sleepy little brook, while Ruth seats herself on 
the rustic sofa. 

Miss Bounce, in the seclusion of her sun -bon- 
net, is stooping among the strawberry vines, busily 
at work, but looks up suddenly, as a masculine 
voice greets her. Upon seeing the young doctor 
she stands very straight and confronts him, dark 
suspicion in her eye. 

“Pardon me for disturbing you, Miss Bounce, 
but I have some directions to leave about Miss 
Waite, that I think will be more sure to be attended 
to by you than any one else.” 

“ Humph ! ” ejaculates Miss Hopeful, not insen- 
sible to the subtle flattery of the refined voice. 

“ I want Miss Waite to have some whisky every 
day, and I know you ” 

“You know I — what? What do you mean, 
sir ? I guess every body in Pineland knows I Ve 

signed the pledge,” interrupts the spinster, ex- 
10 * 


234 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


citedly. “You come here to insult me in my own 
strawberry patch ? I ’ll have you know ” 

“But, IVIiss Bounce, you misunderstand me,’* 
interposes the young doctor, waving his handker- 
chief behind his back to Ruth, as a danger signal. 
“All I mean is that Miss Waite must have some 
egg - nog every day, to help keep up her strength. 
How could you think I would insinuate any thing 
against so admirable a hostess as yourself? Now 
I feel certain that you would make a really artistic 
egg-nog.” 

“ J don’t feel certain about it at all ! ” retorts 
Miss Bounce, a trifle ashamed of her asperity. “I 
donno as my principles would allow me to make a 
drink in my house, with whisky in it.” 

“Not in case of sickness? Think a minute. 
Wouldn’t it be a still greater load on your 
conscience, to look at Miss Waite and think that 
you might do something for her, and had re- 
fused ?” 

“I donno as it would do her any good/’ says 
Miss Bounce, looking down and pushing aside a 
decayed leaf with her foot. 

“ But I say it would.” 

Miss Hopeful is silent for half a minute. 


PR. DART. 


235 


“ I hain’t got yiiy liquor,” she remarks at last, 
looking up at her companion. 

Mr. Dart puts his hand in the pocket of his 
dark flannel sack-coat, and draws forth a flask. 

“ It ’s pure,” he says, unscrewing the top, while 
his lips twitch. “Would you like to smell of it 
and make sure ? ” 

Miss Bounce looks at him still more suspicious- 
ly ; but his face is gravely serene as he profiers 
the flask. 

“I donno nothing about it ; but I’ll use it, if 
you say I oughter.” 

“I do. Miss Bounce, and thank you, too. 
Won’t you shake hands with me, to show that you 
forgive me for deposing your old physician ? ” 

Miss Hopeful can not resist the handsome face 
and winning manner. She gives him her hand 
rather awkwardly. 

“ He don’t amount to much, an’ you ’ll git all 
stained,” she remarks practically ; but in her heart 
of hearts she likes the way Kenneth Dart raises his 
hat to her, as he turns to go — a narrow straw hat 
this time, with a slightly rolling brim. 

As he moves away, she gives a furtive look at 
the elegant little flask in her hand. 


236 


NO GENTLEMEN. 


n 

“ ‘K. D.,’ ” she says, reading the initials, then 
slips it into her pocket. “To think that I should 
be hiding a rum - bottle, at my time of life ! ” she 
thinks, with a grim smile, as she returns to her 
labor. 


ruth’s discovery. 


237 


CHAPTEK XIII. 
ruth’s discovery. 

“ All ’s fair in love.” 

“I saw your signal, and did not know whether 
to fly to the rescue, or not,” says Kuth, as the 
young man steps back across the brook. 

“I feared, myself, that I should need you ; but 
she became less violent afterward. ” 

“Good Miss Bounce — her bark is so much 
worse than her bite ; but she does n’t like gentle- 
men. There ’s no mistake about that.” 

“Indeed, it’s a clear case,” laughs Kenneth. 
“ It would help take the conceit out of any one of 
the species, to have an interview with her.” 

“And that would be salutary for most of them,” 
adds Ruth. “But why have you your satchel 
with you ? Surely, you will stay to tea ? ” 

“Thank you ; not this evening. I must go back 
to the village. I have an errand to do for my 
patient ; proud moment, when I can refer to my 
patient ! ” 


238 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“You like your profession, then?” 

“Yes, if I might be allowed to follow it ; and 
I hope I may, next Winter.” 

“ How long is it since you graduated ? ” 

“Two years; but I have not stopped readings 
and occasionally assist at the college, just to keep 
my hand in.” 

“ Yes, I know. I have a cousin who is a medi- 
cal student. I believe they all love to converse 
about all sorts of horrors. I know I have endured 
martyrdom, listening to him.” 

“ I have n’t a doubt of it ; but do n’t be alarmed. 
I am not going to try your patience by adding a 
chapter to your book of sorrows. I suppose one 
could shorten the distance to town, if one only 
knew how.” 

“ Yes ; by going through the woods. I will go 
With you a little way, and show you.” 

“Thank you ; I wish you would.” 

So the two repass the house, and continue down 
the grassy slope in front. As they pass, Kenneth 
raises his hat to some one at an upper window. 

“There is Nettie, poor little girl, she looks 
rather forlorn. She will be happier I think, when 
she gets back to school. Your friend. Miss Ivory, 


ruth’s discovery. 


239 


has contrived to make her very thoroughly dissat- 
isfied with herself. I feel as though she, and every 
one els^, ought to know how little blame attaches 
to the child herself. She has been knocked about 
a good deal.” 

“ She is at a tr3dng age, I think,” replies Ruth, 
wishing she could think of something complimen- 
tary to say of rhe young girl which would also be 
true. “I’m sure I didn’t enjoy myself when I 
Vvas 

‘ Standing with reluctant feet, 

Where the brook and river meet,’ 

I was as tall as I am now, and had n’t the least idea 
what to do with my hands.” 

“Nettie’s trouble extends farther than her hands, 
I regret to say,” says the young man, seriously. 
“ She is a strong force, for whom none of her guar- 
dians seems able to provide a proper and satisfac- 
tory outlet. But excuse me. Miss Exeter, as you 
are not one of the guardians, there is no reason 
why I should prose to you on the subject.” 

“If it is any relief to you, that is a reason,” 
Bays Ruth. 

“You are very good. Oh, Miss Ruth,” ex- 
claims the gentleman, with exaggerated mournful 


240 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

ness, “this is a world of sorrows. Do you ever 
get into the worst kind of scrapes ? ” 

“Not very often.” 

“One of the perquisites of being a young lady, 
I presume.” 

“But I love to hear about them. Have you 
been getting into one ? Do tell me about it,” begs 
Buth. 

“I will not say that I, myself, am the unlucky 
party ; but a gentleman of my acquaintance has 
fallen into one, and is still floundering about hope- 
lessly in it. He wishes some one with fertile in- 
vention, would help him out. Have you a fertile 
invention. Miss Exeter?” 

“ Try me,” replies Ruth, laconically. 

“ I will ! ” exclaims the other, dramatically. 

“Once upon a time, there was a young 
lady ” 

“ No, no, gentleman,” corrects Ruth. 

“ I beg your pardon, she was a lady, and is one 
yet, a very proud one, and beautiful. Never mind 
the gentleman, he labors under the disadvantage 
of being a fool, I’m coming to him ; and this lady 
was young and rich, and — and charitable. She 
took it into her handsome head to help this gentle- 


ruth’s discovery. 


241 


man before-mentioned, thinking he was poor and 
needed money. Now this gentleman’s poverty 
was only of intellect ; so you perceive money 
would not serve him particularly, and this lady 
was mistaken.” 

“I see,” assents Kuth, smiling. 

“ Now he had had a fatiguing day, and an un- 
satisfactory dinner before receiving this money, 
and when he sent it back, he inclosed it in a very 
impertinent note. He does n’t remember just how 
it read — ” 

Kuth lays a light hand upon her companion’s 
arm, a familiarity perfectly natural, and not unbe- 
coming in Kuth, and with the forefinger of the 
other hand she writes in the empty air, reading 
aloud : 

‘‘ So, I return to you by safe hands, the money 
which perhaps ought not to have left yours with- 
out a greater knowledge of the facts, and subscribe 
myself. Yours truly.” 

“The , you do n’t mean she told you; I 

was sure she would never tell a living soul.” 

“ Neither would she, had it not been that she 
told me before your reply came. So you are 
‘Yours truly,’ ” says Kuth, standing back in order 
Q 11 


242 


“ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

to take a better view of her companion in his new 
light. 

Kenneth returns her gaze dolefully. 

“ I thought you must be, the day we first met 
you, Jean behaved so oddly. Dear me,” with a 
long sigh, and slow shake of the head, “she’ll 
never forgive you.” 

“ That is what I begin to think. My only sal- 
vation lies in Miss Waite. If I could make an 
Amazon of her, I might stand some chance. What 
do you think ? ” asks Kenneth, looking at Ruth as 
anxiously as though she were the arbiter of his fate. 

“ I dare say that would do, but that would take 
some time, even supposing it were possible ; and I 
suppose you would prefer to have Miss Ivory 
forgive you now, soon.” 

“Now, — soon,” repeats Kenneth, managing to 
look steadily into the sharp eyes which are reading 
him through and through. 

“He loves her!” is Ruth’s mental exclama- 
tion. “I suppose it is natural enough, although 
it is rather sudden, even considering that the 
woman is Jean.” 

“You had better not, really,” she says aloud, 
with startling abruptness. 


ruth’s discovery. 


243 - 


“Not what?” asks the other, looking for one 
moment the picture of detected guilt — his brief 
experience of Ruth’s fun - loving nature not being 
such as would lead him to choose her for a confi- 
dante, 

“It will never do,” she returns, emphatically, 
still gazing at the handsome face returning her look 
so gravely. 

“ It will have to do for me, Miss Exeter. I can 
not prevent it.” 

At these slow spoken words, Ruth realizes that 
the place whereon she stands is holy ground ; but 
it is not in her severely practical nature to feel any 
awe, only honest dismay. 

“ Oh, I am so sorry ! ” she exclaims. “ Why,” 
with a sudden burst of frankness, “ she can’t bear 
you, you know.” 

“ I know it seems so,” returns Kenneth, with a 
man’s natural inabihty to grasp the reality of so 
unpleasant a fact ; “ but perhaps her feeling is only 
a natural resentment, and will wear off.” 

“If you could only get her to do something 
rude to you, so as to strike a balance,” suggests 
Ruth, perplexedly. 

The young man shrugs his shoulders. 


244 


NO GENTLEMEN. 


that is all, I should say, if I might be per> 
mitted to judge, that the balance is decidedly in 
her favor already.” 

“Oh, those little things don’t count,” says 
Ruth, impatiently. “A girl may do all sorts of 
mean things with her eyebrows, and make one 
feel ” 

“Brow-beaten,” suggests Kenneth. 

“Yes, and even say very unkind things, and 
turn the cold shoulder upon one in the most 
pointed way; and yet, if she is a handsome girl, 
it does n’t count, do n’t you know ? ” 

“Yes; I have had it demonstrated,” says the 
other, taking off his hat and mopping his brow. 
Ruth catches sight of a monogram in the corner of 
his handkerchief. It is executed in the highest 
style of the art, in colors faint and Frenchy to a 
degree. 

“I know Mrs. Erwin did that!” she declares 
dumbly ; “ mean thing — grudging Barbara a little 
comfort.” 

Perhaps the thought of the widow acts as a 
spur upon her fancy ; at any rate, her face brightens. 

“I have it. Pay her back in her own coin ! ^ 
she exclaims. 


ruth’s discovery. 


245 


‘‘How?” 

“Why, there is Barbara, poor as a little — oh, 
very poor. Pretend that you pity her because she 
has to teach, and send her some money anony- 
mously ! ” 

“Ruth’s enthusiasm is met by a vacant glance, 
which is not encouraging. 

“Really, I can not see the point, and beside — ” 

“She might accept it, you think?” laughs 
Ruth, good-natured, notwithstanding the ungrate- 
ful reception of her advice. “You see, Jean is — • 
well, Jabe calls her a ‘reg’lar capt’n.’ At all 
events, she takes entire charge of Barbara ; and 
hxm she would resent your sending her money ! 
Oh, it would be such a good thing to do, if only 
she did not suspect the joke. Do try it. Dr. 
Dart.” 

“ And if she did suspect the joke ? ” 

“Why, even then, she could not help being 
amused at your desperate attempts to get even 
with her ; but I must fiot go any farther with you. 
You have only to cross the river at the place you 

first met us, and then ‘ angle ’ to the ” 

“I understand. I know my way well enough 
from here. Many thanks for your company and 


246 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

counsel, Miss Exeter. I shall see you to-morrow, 
I hope. Au revoiry 

Ruth turns with a nod and smile, and retraees 
her steps — stopping once to look back at her new 
friend. He is walking slowly, with his eyes fixed 
on the ground. She smiles as she resumes her 
noiseless march. 

“Jean’s romance has begun early. Such a 
pretty scene in the play of life, if she will only 
behave ! I have a proscenium box,” thinks the 
girl, gleefully ; and, by the time she reaches home, 
every rufiie and plait on the dress which she, as 
first bridesmaid, has decided to wear, is definitely 
settled in her mind. 

Jean, meeting her at the door, is startled by the 
resounding kiss with which Ruth greets her. 

“You darling!” exclaims the latter, holding 
Jean at arm’s length, and scrutinizing her face as 
she has never done before. “And to think that 
you don’t know one — thing — about it ! ” 

“What in the world is 'the matter with you, 
Ruth?” 

“ Do n’t look so glum, my dear ! Do you know 
I believe I shall have the waist cut heart-shaped, 
and ask Dr. Dart how much arsenic it would be 


ruth’s discovery. 


247 


safe to take, to fatten me for the occasion. If I 
could once get some flesh on my collar bone, I 
should look lovely in a heart-shaped waist ! ” 

“You would look lovely in a straight-jacket ! ” 
“ It will be your fault if I ever wear one. If 
you are only good, and amenable to reason, I shall 
wear something far different.” 

But Jean is too pre-occupied to allow of her 
curiosity being aroused. 

“O, Kuth,” she says abruptly, in a desperate 
voice, “Barbara seems so weak and frail this after- 
noon.” 

“ Jean, you shall not be so worried every time 
B. turns pale. It’s natural for some people to wilt 
easily, but they are the very ones who liv^ longest, 
as a rule, — never very well, — never very ill. Do 
you know, my love, you’re the most wilful person, 
in the world? You think you can always have 
your own way; but I’m going to astonish you. 
One of these days I shall play at being Jean Ivory, 
the imperious and autocratic, and you shall be 
tneek, down - trodden Ruth Exeter. I shall send 
for Mrs. Waite to come and nurse her daughter. I 
shall send for Mr. Ivory to come and get his, and 
take her away from here and he ’ll do it too^- 


248 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

for all your scornful airs (Jean is smiling), when < 
tell him all I have to tell.” 

“I think I shall find it very easy to become as 
meek as Ruth Exeter,” says Jean. 

“Oh, this is Ruth Exeter at bay. The worm 
will turn, you know, and the turning point in this 
j worm’s life is reached. You need ” 

“Oh, there you be. Miss Avery,” interrupts 
Miss Bounce, suddenly appearing, “ I’d be obleeged 
to you ef you’d come into the dinin’ room a 
spell.” 

Jean obeys, and Ruth follows her. 

“I’ve made this here egg-nog that the doctor 
ordered, but somehow or ’nother I can’t make up 
my mind to put in the rum.” 

“ The rum ? ” repeats Jean, as Miss Bounce re- 
gards her deprecatingly over the top of her spec- 
tacles. 

“ Here ’tis,” continues Miss Hopeful, one hand 
on her hip as, with the other, she indicates the flask 
lying on the table. 

“It’s his’n. He would have it I should make 
it for her, an’ though I admire to do anythin’ I can 
I^OT Miss Waite, the thought that mebbe I should 
^ut in too much, an’ mebbe intoxicate her so she’d 


ruth’s discovery. 


249 


see toads an’ snakes all night, scared me. I 
couldn’t bear to take the resporsibility on it.” 

“ It is n’t rum, it’s whisky,” says Euth who has 
made an examination during this speech. 

“I believe this will do her good,” says Jean, 
brightening somewhat, and taking the whisky, she 
measures out the right quantity. Screwing on the 
top, she regards the flask on both sides, while her 
lip takes the least little scornful curve. “K. D.,” 
she also reads aloud. “If K. D. is really a physi- 
cian, he ought to know that an ounce of prevention 
is worth a pound of cure.” 

Ruth’s face falls as she gazes at her friend, 
until it is longer than Jean’s own. 

“Dear me,” she sighs aloud, “ what a misfor^ 
tune it is to be born with red hair ! ” 

“ Why, Euthie ? ” asks Jean, taking the glass in 
her hand to carry it to Barbara. 

“It goes with such an absurdly sanguine tem- 
perament,” replies the other, while the gorgeous 
dress with its extravagant train and decorations, 
fades into the nothingness out of which it was 
created. 


250 


“no gentlemen.' 


»> 


CHAPTER XIV. 

IN Barbara’s room. 

“ A generous friendship no cold medium knows.” 

The morning sunshine comes with pleasant, soft- 
ened light, into Barbara’s improvised bed-room 
and lies across the foot of her lounge. The south- 
ern windows, in the front of the parlor, are open, 
and the invalid can look out on the two noble elms, 
which cast a lacy, changing network of shadow on 
the grass. 

The wet rose-clusters and sweet>brier, that climb 
over the piazza, send their fresh morning breath 
into the room, which has altered under Jean’s wand, 
until Miss Bounce can find no trace of her best 
parlor save here and there a picture on the wall. 

Not that she complains of the change. It has 
come to pass with Miss Bounce, that whatever Miss 
Ivory does, is right. And how great a thing this 
is, for one who loves peace and harmony, since it 
is highly probable that “autocratic” Jean would 
have her own way in any case. And what a way 


IN bakbara’s room. 


251 


it ! So graceful. So dainty. Small wonder 
that Miss Bounce finds no reason to complain of 
the changes made in her house. 

Had any one told her, six months ago, that she 
would permit the loose valuables which decorate 
her room of state, to be carried up garret, and that 
a washstand and other bed-room belongings should 
be set up in the sacred spot, she would have con- 
sidered the suggestion beneath the notice of a sane 
mortal. But no enchantress had then appeared on 
the scene. 

As soon as Barbara’s condition required that 
this daring transposition should take place, it took 
place. Miss Ivory looked about her, and decided 
that “all that blessed woman’s trash must be put 
out of the way.” 

But the “blessed woman” was not allowed to 
suspect any such indignity. 

“We must use your parlor a little more, now,” 
said Jean, “but you trust me. I will take the 
best care of everything. ” 

So, while the “trash” was being “put out of 
the way,” Miss Bounce only saw her China images, 
ambrotypes, large spotted shells, and so on, 
wrapped carefully in paper, carried respectfully 


252 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 
up stairs, and locked in an old cabinet in the 
attic. 

And what treasures Jean found in that attic. 
The very cabinet which became a haven for the 
“trash” was, itself, a delightful, spider-legged an- 
tiquity. There were secretaries and wardrobes 
with little brass handles and ball ornaments. 
There was a spinet which had been brought up 
here to make room for the cabinet organ, and best 
of all, to Jean, there was a spinning wheel. 

“ Oh, Miss Bounce, why don’t you have this in 
your parlor ? ” she cried with enthusiasm. “What 
are you thinking of ! ” 

“I dunno what I sh’d be thinkin’ of to set up 
that old wheel in a parlor,” was Miss Bounce’s re- 
joinder. 

“Why, for a curiosity,” said Jean, earnestly. 

“’Taint no cur’osity,” persisted Miss Bounce, 
much perplexed at her boarder’s freak. “ Do you 
mean to say that you’d like that for an ornament 
in your parlor, if you had it? ” 

“Indeed I would,” sighed Jean, looking at it 
lovingly. 

“You may have it then,” said Miss Hopeful 
curtly. 


IN BARBAEA’S ROOM. 


253 


“No, no, Miss Bounce, I have n’t any parlor of 
my own. Perhaps you’ll give me that spinning 
wheel for a wedding present yet.” 

“Pd a sight sooner give it to you without yer 
bein’ married. Still, if you’d rather you can take 
it then, fer I s’pose you will marry.” 

Jean , brought Ruth up into the roomy garret, to 
exclaim and admire with her. 

“Just see these old dishes, Ruth!” she cries 
producing some pewter plates and platters, from 
the depths of a chest which she has ransacked with 
Miss Bounce’s permission. 

“ Ah-h ! They make my heart go pewter-plat- 
ter,” exclaims Ruth. 

“Shame on you! The idea of making a sec- 
ond-hand pun on these adorable relics. I tell you 
these came over in the Mayflower, Ruth Exeter? 
Perhaps Priscilla Mullins, or John Alden, or Miles 
Standish, has used them ! See how bent and bah 
tered some of them are.” 

Miss Bounce avers afterward to Aunt Allen that 
“them two girls acts crazy sometimes. They was 
as tickled as two children when I gave ’em one 
apiece o’ them pewter plates that belonged to 
great Gran’father Brewster. ‘You behave as 


254 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

though they was gold,’ says I to Miss Avery. 
‘Gold,’ says she, ‘I wouldn’t exchange ’em fer 
gold,’ says she. Goin’ to put them in their 
parlors.) they said. Now what do you make 
on it ! ” 

“ I guess them old things is gettin’ kind o’ fash- 
ionable fer ornaments,” returns Aunt Allen. “I 
hearn tell somethin’ about it.” 

“Parlors! Better call ’em cur’osity shops an’ 
done with it,” mutters Miss Hopeful. 

A day or two of Jean’s fairy work created the 
pleasant spot where Barbara now spends the days 
of waiting. 

The linen floor-covering is smooth and cool, the 
toilet belongings are all pretty and comfortable. 
Beside the couch stands a table, holding flowers, 
novels, and poems ; while a tiny pla3d:hing of a 
clock ticks the hours, — sometimes slowly, some- 
times quickly — away. 

Miss Bounce’s father and mother hold one an- 
other’s hands, sitting side by side in a picture 
against the wall, and Barbara sometimes finds the 
united stare of the bridal couple rather wearisome ; 
but altogether Dr. Dart’s patient considers herself 
very well situated. 


IN BARBARA’S ROOM. 


255 


Jean comes into Barbara’s room the morning 
after the events of the last chapter. 

“Here is your breakfast, B.,” she says, setting 
down a waiter upon which is arranged just enough 
chicken, raspberries, chocolate, and toast, to make 
one wish for more. “ Are you going to be good, 
and eat ? ” 

Barbara assumes a famished expression. 

“You know I always do,” she says. 

“Yes, indeed, I know,” replies Jean. “You 
will go at your breakfast in a manner to suggest 
that a whole roast of beef would be a welcome 
side dish ; but when you have finished, there will 
be the waiter looking exactly as it did when it was 
brought in.” 

“ Now, Jean ! ” 

“Don’t ‘now Jean’ me! Eat something;” 
and Miss Ivory unfolds a napkin. “There is a 
wishbone. See that you leave it in a condition to 
be wished on ; ” and with this, Jean goes to one 
of the low, south windows, and seats herself in 
the cool morning breeze, while Barbara wishes for 
Jack the Giant Killer’s leathern sack, that she may 
dispose of the dainty meal set before her. 

As she stirs the cream into her chocolate, she 


256 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

looks with loving admiration at the pretty picture 
formed by Jean in her low seat near the roses. 

“ How sensible you are, always to wear white 
in the morning, Jean ; it is so pretty on you.” 

Now, it so happens that this speech smooths 
the way for Jean to a subject which she has been 
longing, all the morning, to approach. 

“Certain shades of blue become me, too,” she 
returns with Tin usual interest. “I have a blue 
muslin that I never put on, just because I have 
nothing to wear at the neck and sleeves, that suits 
me.” 

“ What an idea, ” says Barbara, making two 
bites of a raspberry, “when you have so much 
lace ! ” 

“What is lace, when one wants something 
fclse? Now, if I had wide, delicate collar and 
cuffs, of tatting, like yours, that would be worth 
while.” 

“Oh, do take them, Jean, dear?” begs Bar- 
bara, earnestly. 

“Hint for them, and then accept them!” 
laughs Jean. “I think not; but I would give 
fifteen dollars to any one who would make me a 
set.” 


IN barbaea’s room. 


257 


Barbara drops her teaspoon. ‘‘That would be 
too much, Jean.” 

“Too little, if any thing,” returns the other, 
her face averted as she watches the elm shadows 
dreamily weaving in and out. “I can not make 
two scallops, or whatever you call them, without 
coming to grief and having to break them off ; 
and when I think of all the work in that set of 
yours, it seems more difficult than to build a 
house ; but I do n’t know any one who could do 
it, whatever I paid.” 

“My mother made my set, Jean. She would 
be only too glad to do one for you — only too 
glad to find out any thing you would like.” 

“Why, Barbara,” how nice!” cries Jean, 
quickly. “Would she really — but I’m afraid 
she would want to give it to me.” 

“ Certainly, she would,” says Barbara. 

“Then I can’t have it,” and Jean shakes her 
head, decidedly. 

Barbara colors. “It is very unkind of you 
not to let us do any thing for you, when you 
remember all we owe you.” 

“Mousie, you hurt my feelings,” says Jean, 
drawing near the lounge and standing still — her 
R 11* 


258 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 




own cheeks hot. “Do you suppose — do you 
believe that I ‘ remember ’ that you owe me any 
thing ? ” 

There is a little silence ; then Barbara replies 
slowly : * 

“ No, I do not believe it.” 

“ Then listen to reason. Your mother has cares. 
Her time is precious. What kind of a girl should I 
be, to ask that amount of fine, careful work from 
her, that I might wear something pretty ? But, 
perhaps, I was indelicate to mention the subject.” 

The artful ending of Jean’s speech proves 
efficacious. 

“You, indelicate? you darling!” exclaims 
Barbara, reaching out toward the fine white hand 
and clasping it close ; “ never ! beside, I think — 
mamma would be glad — of the order,” she fin- 
ishes hesitatingly. 

“Then I can satisfy my vanity with a clear 
conscience ! ” exclaims Jean, in a relieved voice. 
“You know my old motto, ‘ Strike while the iron 
is hot ; ’ ” and she brings a bttle board, a sheet of 
paper and a pencil, to Barbara. “ Now, write, my 
dear I Do n’t speak of me. Just say the set is 
wanted very much by a young woman, who is 


IN BARBARA’S ROOM. 


259 


given up to vanity and love of dress ; and — oh, 
yes; you might as well send the money — here it 
is — then my responsibility is over, and I shall 
have nothing to do but shine forth in all my glory 
when the things are finished.” 

Barbara writes away — a half smile on her lips, 
possibly suspecting the cause of this new whim. 

Last evening, in clearing up the room, Jean 
found a half unfolded letter on the floor, and, as * 
she laid it on the dressing-table, her eyes involum 
tarily lit upon these four words: “ Oh, for fifteen 
dollars ! ” She knew that the letter was one Bar- 
bara had received that day, from her mother, and 
she thought long and compassionately of the little 
woman whom she had seen only once, but v/ho had 
taken so strong a hold upon her sympathies. 

“ Another use for Aunt Jean’s money,” she de- 
cided, at last. “ It must indeed be a pressing 
need which induces Mrs. Waite to trouble Bai'- 
bara.” 

So, happy at having accomplished her purpose, 
Jean stands looking down at her friend who is 
sealing the comforting letter. 

“ Can’t 3'ou finish your raspberries, B. ? ” she 
asks. 


260 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“No ; I don’t feel especially hungry this morn* 
ing,” says Barbara, as though this state of things 
were unusual. 

“ Why, what shall we do ? You must eat more, 
Barbara. Try to think of something you would 
fancy.” 

“I believe I should like some trout — such as 
those we had at the picnic. ” 

“ How fortunate ! ” exclaims Jean, brightening. 
“ There is one in the house, now.” 

“But Dr. Dart caught those we had that day,” 
objects Barbara. 

Jean bites her lip impatiently, starts to speak, 
but refrains and leaves the room, carrying the 
breakfast-tray with her. As she enters the kitchen. 
Miss Bounce, busy at the sink, glances sharply at 
the contents of the waiter. 

“Umph! Don’t look exactly as though a 
swarm o’ locusts had swep’ over it ; does it ? ” 

“Miss Waite thinks she could eat a trout, if 
Dr. Dart caught it,” pronounces Jean. 

“Don’t it beat all, the fancies a sick person ’ll 
take. All right. Miss Avery. Jabe ’ll be tickled 
U) death, to take the message to him, an’ mebbe 
git took along.” 


IN BARBARA’S ROOM. 


261 


Jean is about to leave the room, when Mrs. 
Erwin appears in the doorway ; at the same mo- 
ment, from the opposite entrance comes Jabe, 
bringing a load of wood. 

“I want a pail of warm water, please, Miss 
Bounce,” says the widow. 

‘‘All right,” returns Miss Hopeful. “Jabe, 
wait a minute. Miss Avery wants to speak to 
you.” 

Miss Bounce is mistaken, for Miss Ivory does 
not wish to do any thing of the sort. Neverthe- 
less, she pauses and turns toward Jabe. 

“Miss Waite would like a fresh trout for her 
supper,” she says severely. 

“ All right, mom,” returns Jabe, with a double- 
shuffling tendency in his feet. “She shall hev it, 
ef it takes all day.” 

“No doubt,” remarks Miss Bounce, dipping 
hot water out of the boiler. 

Jean clears her throat. 

“Miss Waite prefers — she fancies — that she 
should like Dr. Dart to catch the fish for her,” she 
pursues, gazing straight over Jabe’s head. 

“Well, upon my word!” ejaculates Mrs. 
Erwin. “Such coolness! Did I ever!” and in 


262 


“no gentlemen.” 

the midst of the little widow’s fragmentary indig- 
nation and amazement, Jean, fuming within, but 
all coolness without, stalks from the room. 

“Whose servant was Dr. Dart, last year, I 
wonder ? ” exclaims Mrs. Erwin, forgetting the 
hot water which Miss Bounce, smiling grimly, 
deposits on the floor by the sink. 

“ Jabe ! ” cries the widow, hurrying to the door 
through which the boy has vanished. “Are you 
going to find Dr. Dart ? ” 

“Yes, mom,” returns Jabe, coming back reluc- 
tantly. 

“ I ’ve a great mind to forbid it ! ” 

“Yes, mom,” repeats Jabe, digging his heel 
into the gravel. 

“Or, stay. On second thoughts, I should like 
to go fishing with Dr. Dart, myself. You tell 
him so.” 

Jabe looks up, distressed. 

“Oh, now. Mis’ Erwin, ye’d better not — horn 
ust, now ! Where we’ll go’s a purty tough place 
for ladies.” 

“I sha’n’t mind, and I have been able to be 
with him so little ! I will be all ready at an^^ 
time.” 


IN Barbara’s room. 


263 


Wall,” says Jabe, “ we fish mostly, stan’in’ up 
t’ our waists in water. It’ll be purty queer fer 
ye.” 

“I’ll risk Dr. Dart’s taking me into the water. 
He will find some comfortable place for me.” 

“ Jes’ as you say ! ” returns the boy ; then, ap- 
pearing to meditate aloud, “I’ll see t’ he carried 
along a double allowance o’ whisky, in case o’ ac- 
cidents while we’re a passin’ threw Eattlesnake 
Holler.” 

“ IWiat ’s that you say ? Rattlesnakes ? ” 

“Bless ye, yes ! an’ water snakes ’n checkered 
adders ! But then, all ye ’ve got to dew ’s t’ keej; 
yer eyes open. Folks do n’t allers git bit.” 

“ Mercy, Jabe, I would n’t go for any money X 
I ’m so glad you told me ! ” 

“So be I,” mutters Jabe, showing a clean pan* 
of heels as he speeds away in the direction of Aunt 
Allen’s, giving vent to his feelings, now and then, 
^by a shrill whoop. 

Taking paths best known to himself, the boy 
soon reaches the cottage. The jolly brown faces 
of sunflowers nod to him over the fence, and the 
sleepy yellow dog, lying on the stone outside the 
kitchen door, moves his tail in languid recognition. 


234 


“NO GENTLEMEN.' 


Aunt Allen opens the door. 

“Hornin’, Jabe,” she says, shading her eyes 
from the strong sunlight ; then, pushing the dog 
with her foot; “Git aout, ye lazy thing! An’ 
haow’s all your folks ? ” 

“So’s ter be raound — all but Miss Waite. 
Where’s Dr. Dart?” 

“Gone to the post-office. I hope Miss Waite 
ain’t no wuss.” 

“No,” replies Jabe, laughing to himself at the 
old lady’s repeated and ineffectual attempts to dis- 
place the dog. 

“Did ye ever see the like o’ him!” she ex- 
claims. “He allers gits the hottest place he can 
find an’ drops daown on it an’ jest sleeps the hull 
day. I’m wore out with him. Will you go ’long ; ” 
and a decided poke from a broom causes the dog to 
raise himself deliberately, step down from the stone 
and sink upon the grass a few feet away, as if over- 
come by exertion. f 

“ D’ye want ter see that there dog git friskier 'n 
a colt in abaout a second ’n a half? ” inquires the 
boy. 

“ ’F ye wouldn’t hurt him.” 

“Who’s a wantin’ ter hurt him.” 


IN Barbara’s room. 


265 


Aunt Allen looks at the animal and shakes her 
head. 

“Ye can’t command earthquakes, Jahe, an’ 
nothin’ short of a good sizable earthquake ud shake 
Caesar up, an’ I know it. I’ve tried everythin’ 
else.” 

But Jabe’s grin continues complacent. He 
stoops carelessly and picks up a short, thin switch, 
then approaches the dog. 

All four of Caesar’s legs stick out straight and 
stiff in the sunshine. His head lies comfortably 
on the warm, thick turf, and the comers of his 
mouth curve up in a gentle smile of satisfaction as 
becomes one who loves, 

“ at noon to lie 

Serenely in the green-ribbed clover’s eye.” 

Making some mysterious passes over the dream- 
ing animal, Jabe begins a soft buzzing sound, 
gradually growing louder and louder, and ending 
suddenly, thus : 

“ Bz-z-z-z-z-zt ! ” 

As he begins, he draws the switch delicately 
over Caesar’s back, and finishes with a little dab, 
which brings the dog to his feet in a flash. 

Evidently Caesar has had a painful meeting with 
12 


266 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


a bee ere this, and his wild eyes and erect ears, aa 
he bends himself double in a search for the enemy, 
are sincere compliments to Jabe’s imitative powers. 

“ Wall, Jabe, upon my word,” cries Aunt Allen, 
her fat sides shaking with laughter. “It does take 
yew ! ” 

Jabe rolls over in the grass and shouts. Caesar 
looks at him, every nerve twitching and alert ; 
then slowly it penetrates his doggish brain that 
something is wrong. What is it ? Perhaps there 
was no bee ! On second thoughts he believes there 
was none. Being broomed, pushed, and called 
names are things Caesar has always been accus- 
tomed to, but evidently he draws the line at being 
hoaxed, for down droop his head, ears and tail as 
he slinks off around the corner of the house. 

“ See the poor feller. Come, Caesar ; here, 
Caesar,” calls Aunt Allen, but to no purpose. 

“He’s got the sensitivest feelin’s for a y alter 
dog that I ever see,” she continues, setting aside 
her broom. “I shall hev to go an’ see ’f I can’t 
find him an’ coax him up ; but dear me, he won’t 
have no pride fer the next week. He won’t even 
lay onto the door stone ; see ’f he does. There 
comes Dr Dart ” 


IN Barbara’s room. 


267 


So, while Aunt Allen goes around thft house on 
a fruitless search for her dog, Jabe, with one more 
yell of delight at the remembrance of Caesar’s first 
expression of trepidation, hurries to meet Kenneth 
Dart. 

“Hello Doctor,” he cries, “Miss Avery sent 
me to find ye.” 

The young man’s face lights up at the name. 

“For Miss Waite, I suppose.” 

“No, not t’ come an’ see her, but t’ ketch a 
trout fer her. fancies^ thet’s what Miss Avery 
said, she fancies she’d like one thet yew ketched. ” 

By Jabe’s involuntary effort at imitating Miss 
Ivory’s manner, Kenneth can picture very readily 
her reluctance to make the request. 

“Well, Jabe, when people are ill we must 
gratify their wishes. I don’t know as I ought to 
take you with me.” 

“ O, I ain’t a speck o’ use t’ hum ! ” exclaims 
the boy, his fingers and face working eagerly, 
“ not the fust mite.” 

“Then I suppose that makes it all right,” 
laughs Kenneth, lazily, “go and get the tackle — * 
carefully, now.” 

The alacrity with which Jabe’s clean linen trow. 


268 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


» 

sers’ legs twinkle past one another on the congenial 
errand, brings another smile to Dr. Dart’s face. 

“Poor Miss Ivory,” he muses, going into the 
house. “ Consistency may be a jewel, but it is far 
from being ornamental, in her case, to my think- 
ing.” 


THE GENEKAL. 


269 


CHAPTEK XV. 

THE GENERAL. 

His sides, with a cluster of stars, are bright. 

The angler, in his basket, lays 

The constellation, and goes his ways. — Reed. 

Shortly after a plentiful lunch, the two fisher- 
men set out. 

‘*I tell ye what!” says Jabe. “Le’s go fer 
the Gen’ral.” 

“For the what?” asks Kenneth, following his 
guide through the woods. 

“The Gen’ral — they say he’d weigh nigh onter 
four pound* and he’s got the brightest spots onter 
’im, any body ever see. His place is right clus 
t’ Simons’s, where I wuz goin’ t’ take yer, any 
way. He lives under some tree roots, in a big 
pool at the end o’ the brook. Folks has been arter 
him all Summer ; but,” with a delighted shake of 
the head, “ I tell ye, it’s no go. That’s the reason 
they call him the Gen’ral, ’cause he aout-gen’rals 
’em all — whatever that means. Any way, he jest 


270 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

whisks his old tail an’ turns up his nose at every 
thin’ thet 's ben offered him yit. ” 

“ Then I gather that the General is a trout ? ” 

“Yew bet! an’, mebbe, them new-fangled flies 
o’ yourn — them ye got last — ’ll fetch him. What 
ei—^hat ef^ Dr. Dart, yew sh’d ketch the Gen- 
’ral?” 

“I shall do my best, Jabe. Rely upon that ! 
As far as my will is concerned, the General’s doom 
is sealed.” 

It is rather a long tramp to “ Simons’s ; ” but 
at last Jabe leads his fisherman along the bank of 
a babbling brook, and pauses almost reverently 
within a few rods of a lovely spot, where a quiet 
pool borders and mixes with the foaming water of 
the little stream, dividing it from the deeper 
waters of the river. 

The earth is partially washed away from the 
roots of a tree which leans over the pool, and, 
under its spreading shade, Kenneth can almost 
fancy he sees the gleaming side of the “monarch 
of the brook ” in the dark water. 

“That's wher’ he lives,” says Jabe, with a 
relish. 

“And there he will continue to live, perhaps,” 


THE GENERAL. 


271 


replies Kenneth, beginning to prepare his tackle. 
“You have stirred my ambition, Jabe, until my 
heart is really set on the General’s capture. Do 
you say that tree root is his particular haunt ? 
Where do people stand to try for him ? ” 

“Right along this bank, clus by the pool, 
there.” 

“ Pshaw ! No wonder the old fellow is shy of 
people who tramp around over his head. This is 
no place to fish that pool from. Way over there, 
on the other side, is where we ought to stand.” 

“Why, ye can’t throw from there. Old Ken- 
dall — I guess- he ’s abaout the best fisherman 
raound these parts — he fishes frum this side. ” 

“I ’ll show you a thing or two, Jabe, my boy. 
You pilot me over the river, and we ’ll stand by 
that clump of alders, over there,” pointing to the 
opposite bank. 

“We kin cross easy ’nufi* on the rifis,” says 
Jabe, all interest, trotting along the bank to where 
the foam and swirl of the shallow water indicate 
the rocks beneath, and, turning up his trowsers, 
he wades across, followed by Kenneth, who, in his 
high boots, steps after him as quietly as possible. 

Arrived at the clump of alders, Jabe sits cross- 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


272 


legged on the grass, and watches the doctor pr(^ 
pare his fishing tackle. 

“ What is that thing a hangin’ onter yer watch- 
chain, Dr. Dart ? ” he asks. “ It looks like a little 
crockerdile.” 

“That is an alligator’s tooth.” 

“ By Jiminy ! ” exclaims Jabe. “How kinder 
fancy the hull set must look ! ” 

Dr. Dart laughs softly, even at this distance, 
out of deference to the General. 

“ They don’t grow this way, naturally. This 
IS carved ; but they do just as good service. An 
alligator is an ugly-looking beast.” 

“ I sh’d say so ! I’ll bet I’d be as scairt o’ one 
as Mis’ Erwin is o’ snakes.” 

“I’m told that alligators are not partial to 
white people. They like negroes best.” 

“Ye do n’t say so ! ” responds Jabe. “ Wall, 
naow, that ’s cur’us.” Then, after a minute’s 
thought, he exclaims : “I s’pose they do n’t like 
folks so rare done. They want ’em braown.” 

“ That must be it,” returns the gentleman, 
laughing again. “ Now, Jabe, keep still. Do you 
see that cloud coming up toward us ? By the time 
its edge reaches the pool, I expect this fly to touch 


THE GENERAL. 


2T3 


the water. What kind of taste do you think the 
General will display, if he takes no interest in 
that?” 

Jabe bounds to his feet and examines the bait, 
which is handsome and delusive enough to deceive 
the gravest old wiseacre of a trout that ever swam. 

“The Gen’ral looks high, he does,” grins Jabe ; 
“ but he’d orter be satisfied with that. Now, let ’s 
see jer throw.” 

“Here goes,” says Kenneth, making his first 
cast ; but the fly falls several feet short of the 
pool. He draws back and casts again, the reel 
playing ; still the line proves a little short. 

“ Bully ! ” exclaims Jabe, delightedly. “ Once 
more an’ yer there.” 

For the third time the fisherman whips back the 
slender rod, the reel spins, the line flies out, the 
cloud sails over, and shadow and fly strike the still 
water together. 

It is a breathless moment. 

In artful sweeps the brilliant insect skims over 
the General’s abode. The stillness is only broken 
by the plash of a hundred tiny waterfalls in the 
foaming brook ; but the enticement is vain. All 

is still in the mysterious pool, 

s 


274 “NO GENTLEBIEN.” 

“Not at home,” says Kenneth, finally. 

“ Yew het he ’s t’ hum,” says Jabe, explosively, 
with a side shake of the head, “an’ he calc’lates 
t’ stay there, tew. Oh — ^yew — old — codger^ wouldn’t 
I jest like t’ jump in an’ fetch ye up by the tail ! ” 

“We mustn’t be too hasty,” says Kenneth, 
becoming infected with the boy’s excitement. 
“That fly was neat, but not gaudy. Every trout 
to his taste. Well try another,” and suiting the 
action to the word, soon a wonderful, gem -like 
creature wings its way over the pool and daintily 
dips its wings. Suddenly the water dimples, and 
is quiet again. 

“ Great Zebedee ! thet ’s him ! ” speaks Jabe, 
fast and breathlessly, his eyes like saucers. 

The fisherman says nothing, but gazes as 
though life depended upon it, at the fly, circling 
hither and thither. 

Like lightning, a gleaming trail suddenly 
shoots toward the bait, and is gone. The slender 
rod bends like a bow. For Jabe, the earth and 
sky come together ! 

“Yew ’ve got him ! Yew ’ve ketched him ! 
he shrieks madly. “ Give ’im the butt ! Give ’im 
the buttl’^ 


THE GENERAL. 


275 


‘‘I’ll give you the butt, if you don’t stop your 
racket,” says Kenneth, nearly as excited as his 
companion. 

Like a crazy thing, the captive splashes and 
darts about his long - peaceful home, while a skill- 
ful hand follows and feels his motions, and the 
reel spins sharply. Then the pool grows still, 
and there is a steady pull on the line 

“Yew’ve ketched the Gen’ral,” speaks Jabe, 
slowly and solemnly. 

“True as you live, Jabe, and he ’s sulking in 
right royal fashion.” 

“Hooray! hooray!” shouts Jabe, utterly un- 
able to control himself, turning hand - springs in- 
numerable on the grass. 

“Poor old fellow! he’s seeking safety in his 
old home among the tree roots,” says Kenneth. 

But all appreciation of pathos is quickly forgot- 
ten when the trout makes a wild bound, and the 
business of taking him begins in earnest. With 
frantic strength he springs, now this way, now 
that, feeling through all his movements the same 
gentle, steady force which, never slackening, draws 
him slowly and surely toward the shore, where 
Jabe is dancing around with the landing net. 


276 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

Ye ’(1 better lemme go in naow, ye had, 
really,” he keeps saying, skeptical yet of the suc- 
cessful capture of the enemy. And when close 
to the “riff” the General’s side glistens in the 
shallows, he can no longer be restrained, but, 
regardless of a ducking, jumps in and scoops up 
the struggling prize. 

“What’d I tell yer. Ain’t he a whacker? 
Ain’t he a beauty ? Haow ’s them for spots ? ” 
he cries, scrambling out upon the bank and ex- 
ecuting a war dance around the gasping General, 
whose gorgeous armor glows and fades in the 
late afternoon light. 

“ He ’s all my fancy painted him, Jabe. He ’ll 
furnish a supper fit for a king.” 

“Does fish make brains, doctor?” asks the 
boy, smoothing the trout’s jewelled side. 

“Many people suppose so. If Miss Waite 
does absorb all the General’s cleverness by eat- 
ing him, she will become a very brilliant young 
lady, won’t she ? ” remarks Kenneth, washing his 
hands in the stream. 

“Can we reach the Red Farm in time for 
supper ? ” 

“I guess so. Oh, t’ think we’ve got him I 


THE GENERAL. 


277 


t’ think we ain’t leavin’ the General in the pool ! ” 
repeats Jabe, again and again, trotting along be- 
fore the fisherman, his wet trowsers’ legs flapping 
around his ankles, as he makes a rush now and 
then, when the pair pass a farm - house, to inform 
the inhabitants of the vanquishing and capture 
of the great fish ; for, in Pineland, no celebrity 
of modern days rejoices in the local fame attained 
by the wary General of Simons’s brook 

So, bearing the proud trophy, the two reach the 
Ked Farm. Jabe, flushed and joyful, runs ahead, 
and by the time Kenneth reaches the house, he 
finds that his fame has preceded him. Every 
member of the family, save Barbara and Jean, is 
at the door to meet him, nearly all holding their 
napkins in their hands, having jumped up from 
the supper table before they had finished. 

“Lo, the conquering hero comes ! ” cries 
Euth. “There are loud calls for the General, from 
the parlor. Do bring him in. ” 

Even Miss Bounce joins the escort that follows 
the fisherman into Barbara’s room, and when his 
basket is uncovered and the prize held up to view, 
there is a confusion of tongues. 

“Thank you so much, Dr. Dart,” says Barbara, 


278 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

raising herself on her elbow. “ I appreciate your 
kindness and the honor, equally, I ’m sure.” 

“ Ther’ couldn't no one else ha' done it, I keep 
a tellin’ ye,” cries Jabe. 

“Well, you 've telled us enough,” speaks Miss 
Bounce. “ Go out an’ attend to yer chores.” 

“If it hadn’t been for Jabe, I shouldn’t have 
known anything about the trout,” says Dr. Dart, 
kindly. 

“Thank you too, then, Jabe,” calls Barbara, 
after the retreating boy, who has begun to whis- 
tle and depart, as soon as the doctor mentions 
him. 

A dozen times the fisherman looks at Jean for 
interest in or surprise at his capture ; but Miss 
Ivory’s countenance seems to indicate that three 
or four pound trout are every day affairs. 

“We have n’t weighed him yet,” says Kenneth. 

“Let’s bring the scales right in here,” sug- 
gests Ruth. “B. wants to see him weighed.” 

So Miss Bounce obeys the suggestion. It 
would seem that no transaction of life is too 
common, now, for the once air - tight parlor. 

“Three pounds, lacking one ounce,” announces 
Dr. Dart, examining the marks. 


THE GENERAL. 


279 


“Well, here, give him to me,” says Miss 
Bounce briskly, snatching the General up by the 
gills. “You ’ve flattered him up enough. Ef 
Miss Waite’s a-goin’ feat him to-night, he’d 
better be over the coals.” 

“You must stay and have supper with me. Dr. 
Dart,” smiles Barbara, when the trout has made 
an ignominious exit, followed by a general exodus 
to the deserted tea table. “I shall be able to do 
better justice to it, if I have pleasant company.” 

Jean has just reached the door as Barbara 
makes this request, and she turns with a glowing ‘ 
look at Kenneth, which determines that gentleman 
to eat his evening meal on the roof, or in any 
other place that Miss Waite may mention. 

“Certainly,” he replies promptly. “It is 
double good fortune, first, to catch such a fish, 
and then to eat it.” 

It is probable that Miss Ivory sends Ruth into 
the parlor to make arrangements for the tete-Ytete 
supper. At all events, she comes, and, assisted by 
Mrs. Erwin, spreads a little table by Barbara’s 
couch. The widow’s cheeks are slightly flushed. 
These young ladies have quite appropriated her 
very dear friend, and her uneasiness is not allayed 


280 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

by a significant glance which passes between Kuth 
and the doctor. 

“ When ? ” asks Ruth. 

“To-morrow,” smiles Kenneth, twisting his 
moustache. 

These two words raise Mrs. Erwin’s curiosity 
to the boiling point. Inwardly she resolves not to 
allow Ruth Exeter out of her sight on the follow- 
ing day. Barbara has not even heard them. She 
watches Ruth come in and out, arranging the 
pretty little supper ; and finally the fish is brought 
in to crown the feast. 

“It seems almost presumptuous to eat such a 
celebrity,” she says, as Kenneth draws his chair to 
the table. 

“That sounds well,” says Ruth. “ I ’d like to 
see you creep out of eating your supper through 
a notion of high honor.” 

“Well, you won’t hear anything of the sort. 
I’m hungry,” remarks Barbara, as if it were the 
most natural thing in the world. 

“Jean, Jean,” cries Ruth, rushing to the door. 
“ Barbara is hungry. How shall we celebrate ? ” 

“ We ’ll see her eat,” says Jean, coming in and 
seating herself at the head of the lounge. 


THE GENERAL. 


281 


“ Help me eat, you mean,” says the queen of 
the feast. “ If you ’re good, you shall all have a 
taste of the General — Dr. Dart first. He deserves 
the first bite.” 

Dr. Dart takes a piece of the trout and tastes it 
critically. “Superior in life, the General’s solidity 
of character and good taste never showed to better 
advantage than now,” he says at last. 

“ Give me some, B.” says Ruth. “ I was always 
partial to array officers.” 

Just at this moment a little wad of paper comes 
flying through the open window and lands on the 
lounge. 

Barbara picks it up, opens it, and reads aloud : 

“ mis Wat pleas ef yu kin spar the Trowt’s hed 
And tal i shud Lik um. Jabe.” 

“ Why, that poor boy I The idea of our for- 
getting all about him, when he has taken such an 
interest ! Do, Jean, fix something for him.” 

Jean arranges a plate containing the fish’s head, 
and cutting off a generous slice of meat with the 
tail, she adds that, then garnishes the dish with 
green, while Kenneth watches the movements of 
her pretty, graceful hands. 

Carrying the food out to the piazza, Jean finds 


182 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

Jabe expectantly dodging around the comer of the 
house. 

“ Kever mind no plate, ‘’he says eagerly, grab' 
bing bis prizes. 

The girl goes back, laughing. 

“I fear the aesthetic part of Jabe’s nature is 
undeveloped,” she says, displaying the tumbled 
green leaves ; “ but let him enjoy his supper in his 
own way.” 

Neither she, nor any one of the company, 
dreams what this way is. No pangs of hunger 
have driven Jabe to make his request, although he 
does eat the meat from the tail, and pronounces it 
“ lickin’ good trout ; ” but the stars look down on 
a boy standing by a horse-tub, into which he drops 
a fish’s head and tail, shakes them in the water, 
and snatches them out again. This he repeats sev- 
eral times, interspersing the performance by dances 
around the tub, thus combining the pleasure* of 
triumphing over his adversary, with the business 
of preparing his extremities for careful preserva- 
tion in a certain rough cabinet of curiosities in the 
barn. 


STRATEGIC MEASURES. 


283 


CHAPTER XVI. 

STRATEGIC MEASURES. 

That was all I meant 

To be just.— B rowning. 

It may be that the beratings, which Jean haa 
received from the usually meek Barbara, have had 
some effect on that young lady’s sharp judgment. 
It may be that Jean feels herself relenting toward 
the young physician whose short visit each day 
gives a fillip, not only to his patient, but to her 
friends as well. 

Even Miss Bounce has ceased to resent these 
visits, and gradually Kenneth Dart has come to be 
called by each one, with intimate friendliness, ‘‘ the 
doctor ; ” but it is a point of honor with Jean, not 
to alter her demeanor. Perhaps she finds her 
formal barriers hard to keep up. At all events, 
she sends, one day, to her mother for something 
which comes enclosed in a letter expressing much 
wonder in the same old strain, as to how Jean can 
possibly find a way to spend the amount of money 


284 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

which, from time to time, has been sent her at the 
Red Farm. 

Jean reads the letter — a half smile on her lips 
— then tossing it aside, takes up the enclosure. It 
is an envelope bearing the inscription : 

“ Miss Ivory : Addressed.” 

Jean composes her face and knits her brows, as 
she regards it. For some reason, Dr. Dart's offense 
has dwindled into something more laughable than 
offensive, during the last few days. It has all 
seemed very long ago. 

Now, as she looks and looks at the old envel- 
ope, and thinks it all over, bringing back the emo- 
tions of that evening, Jean succeeds in fanning the 
dying embers of her wrath into a very promising 
flame. 

“It was a mean thing to do — a small thing to 
do,” she repeats to herself, “and I am not called 
upon to forget it, unless he should marry Bar- 
bara.” 

Looking up carelessly, the girl catches sight of 
her face in the glass. A sudden rush of color 
floods it. She covers her burning cheeks with her 
hands, and drops her eyes ; but she can never 
attempt to deceive herself with the idea again. 


STRATEGIC MEASURES 


285 


She Jias caught herself at it, and she knows now 
that Dr. Dart will never marry his little patient. 

“Jean Ivory, you are a humbug ! ” is her men- 
tal comment, as she pushes her chair back from 
the table and walks to the window ; but finding 
her own thoughts very poor company, she turns 
with an impatient shake of the head to seek Ruth, 
who is in her own room. Absent - mindedly, Jean 
forgets to knock, and opens the door. 

“ Who is there ? ” cries Ruth, suddenly. 

“Excuse me,” says Jean, holding the door 
nearly closed. 

“Is it you, Jean? Just wait one minute,” 
returns Ruth, with a repressed giggle ; then Jean 
hears a sound, which might be caused by a block 
of wood being pushed over the bare floor of the 
closet ; then the closet door being closed ; then 
she is admitted. 

“ How red your face is, Ruth ! Have you a 
skeleton in your closet? Let me look in.” 

“ No, indeed ! ” returns the other, with a nerv- 
ous little scream, hurrying to lean against the 
mysterious door. “ Curiosity is a bad thing, Jean. 
Don’t cultivate it. I was just coming to your 
room — that is, as soon as I had fed the — ahem ! ” 


286 “ NO GENTLEMEN/* 

“Fed the what? What have you in there, 
Ruth?” 

“Nothing that will eat; that was a mere slip 
of the tongue. Jahe has just brought this for 
you,” says Ruth, walking to her bureau, and 
handing Jean an envelope. 

“^m I becoming a girl of one idea?” thinks 
Jean, stupidly. Surely, this is the same envelope 
which she left a moment ago on her table. It 
bears the same handwriting, and reads: “Miss 
Ivory: Addressed.” She turns it over. It is 
sealed. 

“That is Dr. Dart’s writing,” she sajrs, coldly. 
“ What can he have written to me ? ” 

“ There is a very easy way to hnd out,” replies 
Ruth, from whose face the red has not died away. 
“Can it be from him? He was here hardly 
twenty minutes ago, and saw you.” 

Jean hates herself for the excitement which 
masters and weakens her. 

“ I will see at my leisure,” she says, carelessly, 
starting to leave the room. 

“No, no, Jean; open it here, else I shall think 
there are secrets between you and the physician.” 

“You always were the silliest girl that ever 


STRATEGIC MEASURES. 


287 


lived,” declares Jean, forced nevertheless to return. 
‘‘The physician and I do not agree very well, and 
that is no secret from our friends, I’m sure,” and 
seating herself by a window, with her back to 
Kuth, she cuts the envelope with the scissors, 
while her friend relieves her surcharged feelings 
by a varied pantomime, half affectionate and half 
threatening, but all having Jean for its object, 
while her cheeks glow with an increasing fire, and 
from the closet comes that mysterious sound as of 
a stick of wood being dragged over the floor. 

“ Kuth, it ’s alive ! ” exclaims Jean, turning 
around suddenly and surprising her friend in the 
act of shaking a very unscientifically doubled fist 
in her direction. 

As Jean turns, Ruth uncloses her hand, and 
smooths back her hair, with an unconsciousness 
beautiful to behold. 

“ What ’s alive ? Something in that envelope ? ” 

“No, the thing in your closet. What is it, for 
pity’s sake ? ” 

“I don’t hear anything,” responds Kuth, com- 
ing near, and sitting down before her companion. 
“ Do hurry and read your note. If Dr. Dart has 
‘written to you, I shall turn green with jealousy.” 


288 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’^ , 

Thus adjured, Jean draws forth the note. Still 
another sealed envelope drops from it. She picks 
it up and reads aloud the address, “ Miss Waite ; ” 
then, unfolding the note, she reads aloud : 

‘‘‘Will Miss Ivory he kind enough to hand 
the enclosed to Miss Waite.’ That is all it says, 
Kuth,” says Jean, growing very pale; “and yet, 
he must mean me to read his note to Barbara 
before I deliver it, else he would not have sent 
it in this way.” 

Euth wonders if there is a delightful possibil- 
ity that Jean is jealous, but she is speedily un- 
deceived. 

“He must be a coward if he has something 
to say about Barbara’s health, which he prefers to 
write, rather than tell her face to face ; and yet, 
that must be it. There is something dreadful in 
that envelope ! I feel it.” 

Euth is completely surprised at the turn hef 
experiment has taken, but hopes that, in some 
unforseen way, Jean’s false impression may help 
the young doctor’s cause. 

“ I shall read it, Euth, whether he intended 
me to or not. I prefer taking the responsibility 
rather than to run the risk of having Barbara 


STRATEGIC MEASURES. 


28 ^ 


shocked,” and speaking decidedly, Jean opens the 
second envelope and draws out its contents. 

Five ten -dollar bills slip down into her lap 
With a face of utter perplexity, she opens the 
paper that has wrapped them. 

“Will Miss Waite consider this money as the 
first salary obtained by teaching, and use the time^ 
otherwise necessary to earn this amount, in caring 
for her health. A Friend.” 

In her relief, Jean laughs as she reads this aloud. 

“Did you ever hear of anything so perfectly 
flat ? ” she asks. “ It’s rather sweet of him to wish 
to help her, but how absurd to expect to be anony' 
mous.” 

Ruth continues to stare and say nothing. 

Jean isn’t going to be angry at all, and from 
present appearances. Dr. Dart is to be allowed to 
reverse the usual order of things, and fee his 
patient rather handsomely. Something must be 
dono. 

‘ ‘ V ery absurd, ” she echoes. ‘ ‘ Perhaps although 
he wished to be anonymous to Barbara, he was 
willing that you should recognize his charity, ” 

“Barbara is not an object of charity, and her 

■friends are quite able to look out for her interests 
T 13 


290 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


without the intervention of an outsider,” responds 
the other, falling into the trap. 

“The more I think of this, Ruth, the more it 
seems unwarrantable, forced, and even ostenta- 
tious, knowing as he does that I am acquainted 
with his writing, having received so many written 

instructions about Barbara O, Ruth ! ” for 

suddenly it flashes upon the speaker, that Dr. Dart 
knows of her acquaintance with his writing, at a 
period prior to Barbara’s illness. 

“ Ruth, I am going to tell you something,” an- 
nounces Jean, solemnly, folding her hands in her 
lap, and gazing at her friend, whose visage appears 
to have acquired a chronic blush, and who finds it 
very diflScult to sustain the steady regard bent 
upon her. 

“Dr. Dart is the young man who returned my 
money so rudely.” 

“ Your protegS with the clean face ? ” 

“Do n’t remind me! But why are you not 
overcome ? ” for to save Ruth’s life she can not 
feign more than mild surprise. 

“Don’t you remember, I suspected it that day 
in the woods, but you put me off with one of your 
base prevarications. So this is he. Well, of 


STRATEGIC MEASURES. 


291 


course you have forgiven him by this time ; you 
know I never thought there was anything in that 
letter to be so furious about.” 

“You couldn’t tell anything about it, because 
it did n’t happen to yourself,” retorts Jean, “ and 
as to forgiving him — do you know, Kuth, it would 
not surprise me at all, his sending the same amount 
that I did, looks like it — and yet would ho have 
sent this to Barbara merely ” 

“I think the correct version of the affair is 
obvious enough,” interrupts Ruth, knowing well 
that Jean’s tardy suspicions are aroused. “Ho 
reasons that Barbara is not able to teach, and that 
if you will not obviate the necessity for her begin- 
ning so soon, why, he will. What are you going 
to do about it ? Give her the money ? No doubt 
she would take it in very good part.” 

“ Indeed I’m not ! ” exclaims Jean, firing. “ I im- 
agine when Barbara accepts money from any one, 
it will be from me. I never heard of so presump- 
tuous a thing. It shows just how much real refine- 
ment the man has.” 

“O, Jean, when he has been so kind and de- 
voted,” murmurs Ruth, rubbing one hand over the 
other. 


292 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

“Nonsense! Fm tired of hearing his praises 
sung. He is a consummate blunderer.” 

“Then you ’ll have to reply to him, I suppose.” 
suggests Euth. 

“No, I shall merely enclose the bills to his ad- 
dress, without a word.” 

Euth looks blank at this decisive reply. 

“It’s real kind of you to be so forgiving and 
sweet, Jean; not many girls would let such an op- 
portunity for revenge pass,” she says, admiringly. 

“ I do not wish for revenge,” is Jean’s lofty re- 
ply; “ but if I thought I could give him a lesson, or 
say anything that would deprive him of a little of 
his self-satisfaction, I might consider it my duty.” 

“I’m sure you’ve always tried faithfully to take 
him down,” returns Euth, pushing paper and ink 
toward her friend, who looks askance at them. 

“From that very first day you’ve been rude 
enough. No wonder he had to laugh at the way 
you insisted upon crossing the creek without his 
assistance.” • 

This artful allusion appeals too strongly to 
Jean’s pride, and brings to mind too many subse- 
quent occasions when the same has had a fall 
through the doctor’s means, to be resisted. 


STRATEGIC MEASURES. 293 

Jean pulls the paper toward her, rests her 
elbow on the table, and her head upon one hand, 
while with the other she writes slowly. 

Ruth rubs her hands together in silent ecstacy. 

“Put lots of pepper in it,” she says. 

“Why?” asks Jean, absently, not looking up. 

“I mean, I suppose you will make it pretty 
sharp,” returns Ruth, rising from her chair and 
moving to her dressing table, where she busies 
herself folding up stray ribbons, while her eyes 
shine with mischief. 

The pen scratches the paper with a vicious 
sound ; otherwise, silence is unbroken for a time : 
then Jean throws down her pen and leans baok in 
her chair. 

Ruth shakes her head apprehensively. 

“Poor young man ! I pity him,” she says. 

“ Do you wish to hear it ? ” asks Jean, smiling. 

“ I insist upon hearing it, only let me sit down. 
I am sure it’ s crushing.” 

“No, only honest ; ” then she reads aloud : 

“Dr. Dart: I must refuse to give your last 
prescription to Miss Waite, and, for your comfort, 
I promise you she shall never know of your pre- 
sumptuous interference in her behalf ; for it would 


294 


“NO GENTLEMEN.' 


be hard for her to recognize you in the ostentation 
and indirectness which characterize your manner 
of bestowing this uncalled-for charity. 

“Jean Ivory.” 

Ruth catches up a fan and waves it. 

“ Methinks I can see him now, wilting quite 
away,” she says faintly. 

“ Will it do ? ” questions Jean, raising her eye- 
browL 

“Unless he rejoices in a rhinoceros hide, I 
think it will. Just think, Jean,” with a reproach- 
ful look, “ perhaps he is even now imagining your 
admiration and Barbara’s welling gratitude.” 

“I hope he is ; I just hope he is,” replies the 
other, warmly ; “but,” with a change of manner, 
“ I do n’t believe he is, Ruth. He is not nearly so 
much of a conceited prig, as I thought, from that 
note he wrote me. Perhaps,” continues Jean, 
staring into vacancy, “ perhaps it would be better 
merely to return the money and say nothing.” 

“Oh, no,” responds Ruth, dropping her fan 
and pouncing on the written sheet l3dng on the 
table. “This will do him good; I know it will. 
Where is the money? I’ll just do the bills up, 
and then we will send them back to the hands 


STRATEGIC MEASURES. 


295 


which they should not have left, ‘ without a greater 
knowledge of the facts.’ Now, just direct that 
envelope, my dear.” 

Jean, sighing a little, obeys ; then Euth seizes 
the missive. 

“I will send it for you. Don’t trouble your- 
self any more about it,” she says airily, and, kiss- 
ing her hand to her friend, she leaves the room in 
hot haste. ” 

“It’s quite right and just,” thinks Jean, left 
alone, justifying herself for — she scarce knows 
what ; then she, too, rises and goes back to her 
own room, where still lies the bit of paper which 
has come way from Boston, to enable her to come 
through this scene with flying colors. 

Why is it that it will not look so significant and 
impudent as it did fifteen minutes ago ? 

“Kevenge is not very sweet,” decides Jean. 
“At all events. Miss Ivory, you have given such a 
very generous tit for tat, that you can afibrd to 
part with this reminder of another’s crime ; ” and, 
so thinking, she holds a lighted match to the 
envelope, which shrivels into a flimsy black flake, 
and crumbles to pieces. 

Meanwhile, Ruth has put the precious note be- 


296 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


»» 


yond power of recall, by starting Jabe off with it. 
She watches until she sees him gallop away on 
Jean’s horse ; then she turns and runs up stairs, 
back into her room, and closes the door behind her. 

“She’s gone. I hope she didn’t look in the 
closet. What nonsense ! Of course, she did n’t ; ” 
and Ruth opens the mysterious door, and, falling 
upon her knees, begins to pull over some shoes 
and slippers on the floor of the closet. 

“ Where are you, you old bother ? I hope Jean 
has n’t thrown you out. O, there you are ! ” and 
with this muttered exclamation, Ruth draws from 
the depths of the closet, by its resisting tail, a 
turtle. 

“What do you mean by scrambling all around 
and making such a noise when I have company ! ” 
she inquires, letting go the tail, upon which the 
animal claws its way vigorously over nill and dale 
of shoe and slipper, with the evident intention of 
seeking seclusion in the depths of the closet again. 

“Come back here, you evil-disposed creature !” 
exclaims the girl, regaining her hold of the short 
tail. The turtle is discouraged, and draws in head 
and legs, and upon Ruth’s releasing the tail, that 
quickly follows, and only an inanimate shell, 


STRATEGIC MEASURES. 


297 


marked in somewhat erratic but plain characters, 
“July 2nd,” lies quietly on the floor of the closet. 

“That’s the way to behave,” remarks its mis- 
tress, approvingly ; “ and it’s the least you can 
do, when I conquered all my natural prejudices in 
order to bring you home from the brook by your 
horrid little tail, and have been through fire and 
water with you ever since, forever being afraid 
you were hungry, or thirsty, or something. Do 
you suppose I like to catch flies for you ? Do you 
suppose I like to let you swim around in my wash- 
bowl ? Do you suppose I hke to have you bump 
around in here, after I’m in bed? Yes, it’s as 
plain as day,” she continues in a tone of satisfac- 
tion, leaning over her prisoner and examining its 
decoration ; then suddenly sitting up as a bright 
idea strikes her, “ Why should n’t I carve in shell 
as well as Jean? ’’she thinks. “There’s some- 
thing more needed on that turtle, and I ’ll put it 
on this very day, ” and the sinking sun, looking 
in at Ruth’s window some time later, sees her at 
work, a penknife in one hand and her captive in 
the other, while she laboriously carves two words 
above Jean’s inscription. 


298 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 




CHAPTER Xm 

SUSPENSE. 

You wronged yourself to write in such a case. 

— Julius Cmsar. 

Jabe, with the note which was given him with 
so many charges, grasped tightly in his hand, cam 
ters gaily along the road, thoroughly enjoying the 
unusual excitement of riding a more fiery steed 
than Dolly. 

He winks, and shakes his head knowingly as he 
goes. 

‘‘Things is gittin’ kinder thick between the 
doctor an’ Miss Avery,” he thinks ; “ he’s seed her 
a half hour, an’ they’ve exchanged letters, all in 
one afternoon ; that’s business, ain’t it. Firefly ? ” 
he asks aloud, patting the horse’s neck. 

“Bless’d if they don’t all make enough o’ that 
young feller any way. I dew believe she^s makin’ 
up to him along o’ the rest,” and the picture thus 
conjured up, of Miss Bounce “makin’ up” to a 
young man, reduces Jabe to a fit of chuckling 


SUSPENSE. 


299 


which lasts until he reaches Aunt Allen’s door, 
where he alights. 

“Hello Jabe, anythin’ wrong with Mandy?” 
questions Aunt Allen, coming out anxiously to 
meet him. 

“No; Mandy’s all right,” returns the boy, 
grasping the precious letter more tightly than 
ever, and winking and nodding so significantly, 
that Aunt Allen stares at him in wonder. 

“ What’s the matter, then ; what do-you want ? ” 

“I want the doctor ; I’ve got suthin’ fer him.” 

“I’ll take it,” stretching out a fat hand for the 
letter which she has just espied. 

“I’ll bet you won’t now,” remarks Jabe, grin- 
ning. “I’m to give it into his hands; where air 
they?” 

“ He’s up stairs. Lemme look at it, Jabe, then 
I’ll let you up.” 

Upon this, the boy holds the crumpled envelope 
tightly by the upper corners. 

“It’s frum her. Miss Avery,” he says in a 
husky undertone. 

“ Then it’s from a angel,” declares Aunt Allen, 
fumbling in three pockets for her spectacles, and 
finally drawing them down from the top of her 


soo 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


9 » 


head, “a angel, Jabe. Do you know all she’s 
done for Alice Allen, to Pineland Centre ? Three 
o’ her children air goin’ to school every day o’ the 
world, lookin’ as nice as anybody’s folks. Most 
people would ha’ thought it wan’t no use to lay out 
so much money, fixin’ of ’em up, for fear Allen 
would sell their new things for rum ; but he hain’t 
done it yet, fact is he’s awful low these days. 
Mebbe Jabe,” continues Aunt Allen, with a myste- 
rious nod, “mebbe he’s agoin’ to be mercifully re- 
moved out o’ Alice’s way. You sh’d hear Alice 
talk, if you want to ’preciate Miss Ivory, an’ I 
guess when Hopeful Bounce comes to find it all 
out, she’ll feel pretty small pertaters.” 

“Mebbe I’d better tell her,” suggests Jabe. 

“Mebbe you hadn’t. You jest leave it all to 
Miss Ivory an’ the woman she’s blessed, it ’ll come 
out in good time. Go up stairs an’ you’ll find Mr. 
Dart in the front room. It’s his’n.” 

So Jabe, carrying his hat in one hand and the 
letter in the other, goes clumping up the stairs. A 
loud “ come in,” greets his knock at the door, and 
obeying, he sees the object of his search, in his 
shirt sleeves, sitting in front of an open window, 
his chair tipped back, his feet crossed on the win^ 


SUSPENSE. 


301 


dow-sill, and the smoke from his cigar curling out 
into the open air. 

“I thought I recognized your fairy footsteps, 
Jabe,” remarks the gentleman, without turning his 
head ; “ come in and sit down.” 

“ I brought a letter fer yer,”says Jabe, advano 
ing and laying the soiled and jammed missive in 
the gentleman’s hand. 

“ It looks a little the worse for wear,” returns 
the other, smiling, as he holds his cigar between 
two fingers, and turns the envelope over. 

“ I grabbed it purty tight ; she said ef I lost it, 
I’d likely go ter jail,” grins Jabe. 

“ Who said ? ” 

“Miss Ex’ter ; but the letter hain’t from her, 
it’s from Miss Avery ; she said so. ” 

Dr. Dart lowers his feet and tosses his cigar out 
the window. Jabe feels intuitively that he ought 
not to watch him, and between his curiosity, inter- 
est, and aspirations toward delicacy, his roving 
eyes, and open mouth, give him a more idiotic look 
than common. 

“ Not much time has been lost, certainly,” mut- 
ters the gentleman, after a silence, during which 
he weighs the letter in his hand. 


302 


“NO gentlemen.’’ 

“No, Miss Avery’s a reel prompt cor’spondent, 
I call her,” returns Jabe, conversationally. 

“ O, you’re waiting, are you ? ” 

“ Yes ; won’t there be no answer ? ” 

“I hope there will, Jabe, but I doubt if you can 
carry it.” The smile has left Dr. Dart’s counte- 
nance, and he still sits, regarding the sealed 
letter. 

“Why, I’ll be keerful,” says Jabe, his face 
falling. “ I won’t dirt it so much as I did that 
un,” pointing at it. 

“ It is n’t that. No one can carry the answer to 
this for me. I must do it myself. WeU,” with a 
sigh, “ now for it ; ” and opening the envelope, he 
takes out the bills with much composure, and lays 
them on a table before Jabe’s astonished eyes. 

“Miss Avery’s paid Miss Waite’s doctor’s bill,” 
he decides. “ Whew ! I ’d like to be a doctor my- 
self!” but the boy’s astonishment is destined to 
wax greater. The way his fisherman acquaintance 
takes his love-letter is, to say the least, novel. 

Kenneth Dart gives vent to a series of brief ex- 
plosions of amusement as he reads the few lines 
slowly and carefully, and, when he finishes, leans 
back in his chair with a ha -ha -ha, that rings 


SUSPENSE. 


303 


through the little house from garret to cellar, and 
it needs Jahe’s sympathetic grin and amazed eyer^ 
to check his laughter. 

He has feared greatly that Jean would, in some 
quiet, cool way, repudiate his right to joke with 
her upon the past. That she should accept his 
effort in good faith, seems too good fortune. 

‘‘ Jabe, you have brought me something worth 
one of those bills. Take one of them I ” 

“ Not ten dollars — for me ? ” gasps Jabe. 

“ Yes, ten dollars for you. Take it. There is 
no answer. You may go ; ” then the young doctor 
leans his elbows on his table, and, with the letter 
lying before him, proceeds to shake his shoulders 
once more over its contents. 

Jabe leaves the room slowly, in a kind cf happy 
maze, and upon reaching home, assures Kuth in 
secret and with solemn eyes, that when he left Dr. 
Dart he was still “laffin’ fit to kill ; and to think 
of his givin’ me ten dollars. Miss Exeter, fer noth- 
in’ — fer 'nothin\ yer know ! ” 

“Well, I’m sure if he owed you ten dollars, 
be owes me twenty,” responds Kuth, laughing 
merrily. 

The next day, as the time approaches for the 


304 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


doctor’s visit, Jean Ivory discovers, for the first 
time in her life, what it is to feel nervous. 

“Will he come,” she wonders, “or will his 
humiliation and anger keep him away evermore ? ” 

While she busies herself about Barbara’s toilet, 
and arranges things as usual for the professional 
visit, she feels like a double-dyed hypocrite. 

“Nothing ever had such a wonderful effect as 
that medicine,” remarks Barbara, taking a bottle 
from the table by her side. “I suppose it is 
some kind of tonic, and may do only temporary 
good.” 

“ Which is harm in the end,” interposes Jean, 
with unction. 

“ No, I do not believe it. I have faith in Dr. 
Dart, and faith can almost make one over by itself. 
Do n’t you know that ? ” 

Jean, who is braiding Barbara’s hair in a tight, 
glossy plait, assents. 

“Oh, he has been such a comfort to me, Jean. 
You see, his helping me to sprain my ankle, gave 
him more interest in me than a stranger would ever 
have taken. I have had such good talks with him 
sometimes, when you have been out of the room, 
and he has made me realize that while I thought I 


SUSPENSE. 


305 


was being very good and cheerful, I have in reality 
been very bad and despondent. He has given me 
such courage.” 

Barbara’s earnest tone falls with a positively 
painful sensation upon Jean’s ear. She feels so 
sure that Dr. Dart will send a substitute to-day, 
and that Barbara has seen the last of him. 

Poor Jean ! She has loved her friend truly, and 
tenderly, and now, in a kind of panic, she realizes 
what she has done 

‘Ht was all mere selfishness,” she tells herself. 
“ I thought I was speaking for Barbara when I 
wrote that spiteful little note, but it was all for 
myself.” 

“ O, how you pull, Jean ! ” exclaims Barbara. 

‘‘Excuse me, I was thinking.” And as Mrs. 
Erwin and Nettie come in to talk with Barbara, 
Jean has an opportunity to go on thinking, and 
her thoughts are of the most uncomfortable. 

She has had a little scheme in her mind for a 
few days past, for the benefit of both Barbara and 
Nettie, a scheme in which she required Dr. Dart’s 
co-operation. It is a question how soon she could 
have brought herself to ask anything of him, had 
thinors fjone on in their natural course. Now she 

O O 

U 13* 


306 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

has put it beyond her power to ask favors in that 
quarter. 

She sits down, quite overpowered with remorse 
as she looks at Barbara’s pale, smiling face. 

“You ought to wear a rose-colored ribbon. Miss 
Waite,” asserts Mrs. Erwin, “that white cambric 
wrapper looks too unbroken.” 

The widow has grown very gracious to Barbara. 

She soon found that it was fixed as the laws of 
Medes and Persians that her very dear friend was 
to be the girl’s devoted physician, and she is 
woman of the world enough to accept the situa- 
tion gracefully, showing no objection, save when, 
as happened day before yesterday, some especial 
favor, required of the young man whom she re- 
gards as her private property, causes her wrath to 
burst forth. The strict watch which, true to her 
resolve, she kept over Euth Exeter yesterday,! 
threw no light upon the cabalistic words which she 
had heard pass between that young lady and the 
doctor, and after all, the little widow comforts her- 
self with the reflection that Dr. Dart is no more 
attentive to one than another of the pretty, fresh 
young household, while his manner to herself is 
unchanged. 


SUSPENSE. 


307 


‘‘Yes, give me a rose-colored ribbon, Jean,” 
assents Barbara. “"Let me look as well as I can, 
to encourage the doctor. Beside, we ought to cel- 
ebrate, for I am going to hobble around a little 
when he comes,” she finishes, contentedly. 

Jean rises slowly. “I think the penitentiary 
for two years would be about right for me,” she 
decides, mentally, as she starts to get the ribbon, 
which she is sure will be wasted on the snuffy 
old doctor, who has once been pointed out to 
her. 

“You are tired, Miss Ivory, let me get it for 
you. Is it up stairs ? ” asks Nettie, eagerly. 

“Yes, dear, in my ribbon box. You know 
where,” answers Jean, gently. 

Nettie flies up stairs, two at a time, in what 
Mrs. Erwin would term a dreadfully hoydenish 
manner. 

“ She said ‘ dear,’ she said ‘ dear,’ ” she repeats 
to herself in excited delight. “I shall tell Ken- 
neth.” 

Indeed, for several days past, Nettie has basked 
in an unusual display of Miss Ivory’s favor. As 
Jean’s confidence in herself has been shaken in 
the constantly recurring tilts between herself and 


308 


“no gintlemen.’ 


the doctor, her humility has increased, and she 
recognizes in the ill-behaved young girl, some 
touch of nature which makes them kin. 

When the ribbon is adjusted to the satisfaction 
of all, Jean leaves Mrs. Erwin to tell Barbara that 
it diflfuses a light upon her face very becoming : 
that it is a woman’s duty to remember these things, 
etc., and goes out upon the piazza to walk off her 
discomfort if possible. Ruth is there, Ruth and 
Mabel and Polly, for the old-fashioned piazza is 
very pleasant and cool at this hour of the day. 

“Ruth, come here a minute,” orders Jean, per- 
emptorily. 

Ruth obeys, and the two walk, arm in arm. 

“Ruth, you — you led me on yesterday, you 
know you did,” says Jean, abruptly. 

“Yesterday?” repeats Ruth, frowning, and 
appearing to tax her memory. 

“ Yes ; I do not believe I should have done it 
but for you.” 

“Jean, my love. I’m afraid you’ve been indulg- 
ing in some of Barbara’s egg-nog. Your eyes 
look wild, and your brow — ” here Ruth places 
her hand on Jean’s forehead, Jean pushes it 
away. 


SUSPENSE. 3Q9 

Yes, it’s heated,” continued Euth. “5 ^hall 

have to ask Dr. Dart ” 

“ O, Euth, you will not have a chance ; he will 
not come, after my insulting note. I’ve been think- 
ing it over. The one he wrote me, was refined 
kindness and delicacy itself, by comparison.” 

“ Is that what you were referring to ? And you 
think I made you write it, when I did nothing but 
praise him, and excuse him to you all the time ? 
No one but you could say anything but praise of 
him. Yes,” musingly, “your note must have 
struck him as being rather coarse.” 

Jean bites her lip, her eyes fill, and there is 
a minute of silence. Then she speaks, and her 
voice has a little tremble in it. 

“ I have tried so hard to help Barbara, and she 
was doing so nicely when he appeared on the scene 
and spoiled everything ; yet he is twice as much to 
her as I am, she pins her faith to him entirely, and 
I, who would do anything for her, have deprived 
her of him. ” 

“ O, perhaps not,” suggests Euth, with weak 
comfort. 

Jean drops her arm and turns away impatiently. 
“I know” she says, doggedly, “that if you had 


810 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

given me a minute to reflect, I should not have 
sent that note ; ” then she walks back into the 
house. 

Euth looks after her. 

“You are quite right, you beautiful creature, 
and if this does n’t turn out all right for you after 
I’ve made you so wretched about B. , and myself 
so wretched with a private and undisciplined men- 
agerie, I shall be simply disgusted,” she thinks ; 
“but if Dr. Dart does as I have suggested, Jean 
will be in just the right condition to ‘ forgive and 
forget all the wrong she has met, ’ and then, if he 
wishes to make love to her in a mild and decorous 
manner, why, I shall be quite reconciled ; ” and 
again Euth’s eyes become dreamy, and again the 
controversy begins in her mind as to whether the 
waist of that ravishing, blue-tinted dress, shall be 
high, or heart-shaped. 

Jean is moving languidly through the hall, 
when Miss Bounce pounces upon her, and, taking 
both her hands, draws her into the vacant dining- 
room and closes the door. 

She sits down, and Miss Bounce takes a chair 
opposite her. An open letter lies on the table. 

For a minute the angular and usually unmoved 


SUSPENSE. 


311 


woman zs unable to speak, while tears run down 
her wrinkled cheeks, and her lips and chin twitch 
and tremble. 

“At first, I was mad at you, if you’ll believe 
it. Miss Avery,” is her first remark when she can 
speak, “ an’ that shows what a hardened, obstinate 
sinner I’ve ben.” 

This being incomprehensible to Jean, she sits, 
waiting patiently, with her long, lustrous eyes 
fixed directly upon Miss Bounce’s face. The clock 
ticks loudly in the interim of silence. The old 
lady lifts the letter with trembling hands, and hesi- 
tates a moment, biting her lips ; then the flood- 
gates break loose. 

“Oh, you’ve ben good to her — good to her. 
Miss Avery. • She ’s told me all about it in this 
letter,” she sobs brokenly ; then Jean understands 
that the poor drunkard’s wife has written and told 
all her woe and happiness. 

“She begins it: ‘When my father and my 
mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me 
up ! ’ and, oh, I have deserved it ; but it cuts me 
— it hurts me. Miss Avery.” 

Another short silence. 

“ I did not know how bad it was, though that ’s 


812 “NO GENTLEMEN.” 

no excuse, for I ought to have known, when a 
stranger found out so easy ; but Alice has ben 
proud with me, poor thing ! I Ve give her reason 
to be, an’ she always put the best foot forrard an’ 
kep’ things back from me, an’ you ’ll never know 
what you ’ve done, never, though this letter tells 
it pretty fair. You can read it.” 

“I would rather not,” Jean returns; and her 
effort for self - control might well be taken for 
coldness. 

“An’ now, God be praised, though the Lord 

forgive me for sayin’ so, Allen ’s ben took ” 

“ Her husband dead ? ” asks Jean, horrified, 
“Yes; the funeral’s to-morrer. Then, I can 
have Alice an’ the children here, an’ make up a 
little for what I hain’t done in the past. I ’m used 
now to comp’ny. I do n’t believe I could live as I 
used to afore you all come, an’ the parlor ’ll seem 
empty enough when Miss Waite ’s gone out of it. 
She will be well soon, I suppose, with that there 
Dr. Dart a takin’ care of her. I did n’t know they 
made such men as him, an’ I guess they do n’t in 
most places, ” and Miss Bounce wipes her eyes. 

Jean rises. “I have lived a life of mistakes 
this Summer, Miss Bounce,” she says, in a strange^ 


SUSPENSE. 


313 


ly humble tone, with just a suggestion of tears. 
“ I can never be grateful enough that my effort for 
your sister has not been one of them.” 

‘‘And there’s one more thing,” says Miss 
Bounce, looking rather shame-faced. “ Aunt Allen 
just held her sides an’ laughed an’ laughed, when I 
showed her my bonnet, and told her you had it 
done over and trimmed for three dollars. She says 
ten dollars would n’t cover it. I did n’t see how 
they could do it ; but I 'm dretful green about such 
things.” 

“Please forgive me for that. It was silly of 
me to deceive you, perhaps. I am a very silly 
girl, at best ; but it was such a pleasure to me to 
get it for you.” 

“Well, it ’ll always be a pleasure to me to wear 
it, an’ somethin’ to remember you by. It was a 
blessed day all around when you first set foot in 
Pineland. ” 

“ Thank you. Miss Bounce,” returns Jean, with 
a gentle smile ; then she goes up to her room, to 
watch at the window ; hut the evening shadows 
gather, and no physician, either countrified or 
citified, comes to the Ked Farm. 

14 


Bil “NO GENTLEMEN.” 


CHAPTER XVm. 

THE CRISIS. 

Out of painful phases wrought, 

There flutters up a happy thought, 
Self-balanced, on a lightsome wing. 

— In Memoriam. 

“ That poor darlin’ ! That poor darlin’ ! ” 

Miss Bounce is in love. 

She had not thought it possible for her heart, 
tvhich had been narrowing through so many lonely 
years, to expand enough to take in the affection 
which she has come to feel for the queen of her 
‘‘rosebud garden of girls” ; but during the sleepless 
night which follows the reception of her exciting 
letter, her thoughts wander many a time from 
contemplation of her sister’s sufferings, and rest 
with love and yearning upon those of her benefac- 
tress. 

“For she is suff’rin’, an’ that ’s the truth. Poor 
lamb ! What ails her ? What can ail her ? She ’s 
nothin’ on earth but a child. It do n’t seem ’s if it 
could all be worry about Miss Waite. I know 


THE CRISIS. 


315 


’t ain’t. How I wish I could say somethin’ to her, 
or do somethin’ fer her. They, every one on ’em, 
kind o’ hook onto her, an’ she’s too young — too 
young. But that’s the way with her kind. They 
come inter the world, kind o’ noble an’ big an’ 
broad - minded, and folks feel it in ’em frum the 
^art. Them ‘perfect women, nobly planned,’ hev 
got to begin right off sharp, on the’r business o’ 
warnin’ an’ comfortin’ an’ commandin’, an’ it must 
come dretful hard on ’em in the’r inexper’ence, 
sometimes, an’ th^y must have panicky moments 
when the ’re afeard they hain’t commanded right. 
That sweet, young thing, with nobody in this world 
to go to — fer I hear what her step-ma is, an’ het 
pa, I reckon, ’s kind o’ easy goin’. Them great 
velvety, brown eyes o’ her ’n, goin’ round mourn- 
in’, as they was last night, pretty nigh breaks my 
old heart ; but what can I do ? Ef a thrush on the 
tree out there sh ’d stop singin’ all on a suddent, 
an’ I knew he could n’t never open his mouth agin 
unless somebody helped him, would I stan’ any 
chance o’ takin’ of him in my hand an’ examinin’ 
into the trouble? No more could I help that 
young cre’tur’, even though I know well enough 
that her trouble only seems trouble to her, ’cause 


316 


“no gentlemen.” 

she’s so young an’ innocent an’ tender. Show it 
to some old stager, an’ it ud fade into nothin’ at 
aU.” 

Thus, Miss Bounce, in her high -posted bed, 
while the object of her solicitude is tossing and 
restlessly dreaming through the hours of the short 
Summer night. 

At the breakfast-table. Miss Hopeful anxiously 
notes that there are circles under the eyes which 
still mourn dumbly, and the heart - strings of the 
spinster are wrenched anew. 

She watches for an opportunity to speak with 
Ruth alone, and at last finds it while that young 
lady is cutting flowers for Barbara’s vase, which is 
refilled daily. 

“See that lovely rose. Miss Bounce,” cries the 
girl, as Miss Hopeful approaches. “Aren’t the 
late ones perfectly beautiful ? I can give Barbara 
an extra pleasure to-day.” 

“1 wish you could give Miss Avery an extra 
pleasure,” replies Miss Bounce, sternly. 

Ruth looks up, a trifle consciously: “Why, 
what has happened ? ” 

“Howsh’d I know what’s happened? Hain’t 
you the best friend she’s got ’round here ? ” 


THE CRISIS. 


317 


‘‘Certainly; a regular fidm Achates^'^'' returns 
Ruth, adding some old-fashioned pinks from the 
border of the flower garden. 

“ You need n’t call yourself no Indian names,” 
says Miss Bounce, “ only ef you can chirk her up 
a little, why, do.” 

“ Why ? Is anything the matter ? ” asks Ruth, 
innocently. 

“Now do ask that ! Be you blind?” asks the 
exasperated woman. 

“No, Miss Bounce. You are right. Miss 
Ivory is a trifle uplifted this morning — her way 
of being cast down,” adds Ruth, in airy explana- 
tion, as she stoops again to the flower-bed for heli- 
otrope and mignonette ; “but, what can be done ? 
Miss Ivory never snaps at people. There are no 
torpedoes, or fire-crackers among her ammunition ; 
but she keeps a cannon, loaded to the muzzle, and 
if it’s just the same to you. Miss Bounce, I won’t 
touch it oflf,” and Ruth leans over, to the verge of 
losing her balance, in pursuit of a pink geranium, 
“at least, not until I ’ve made my will. The less 
I meddle with that firearm, the more will be left 
of me for other purposes, as some humorous writer 
observes.” 


818 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’^ 

“ Humph ! ” is Miss Bounce’s ambiguous reply, 
as she marches into the house. 

Buth falls back on the grass in a sitting posture. 
The dew soaks into her lilac - figured cambric, but 
she heeds it not. The flowers drop — a fragrant 
heap — into her lap. She clasps her hands over 
the red-gold hair which waves straight back from 
her low forehead. 

“Brace up, Kuth Exeter! this is only the be- 
ginning of troubles, and there ’s a whole day full 
before you.” 

Then she ties her nosegay with a blade of 
striped grass, and goes into the parlor. 

The sphere of that usually cheerful spot, she 
feels, before she crosses the threshold, is one of 
discomfort ; but she puts on a bright face as she 
enters. 

“Here is the last rose of Summer, Barbara ! ” 
she says cheerfully. 

“A very appropriate ofiering to me,” says 
Barbara. 

“Last and best, this is,” continues Kuth, un- 
heeding the murmur, and holding the fragrant 
bunch to Barbara’s nose. 

“Ugh! there’s a bug on my face !” says the 


THE CRISIS. 


319 


invalid, brushing her cheek and shaking her head. 
“ Thank you, Ruth ; they are beautiful — too good 
for me. I ’m a cross-patch this morning.” 

Ruth glances quickly at Jean, who is moving 
about the room, looking very grave, but very 
handsome in a little lace breakfast-cap and white 
morning dress, the puffs and laces of whose sleeves 
are turned up to the round shoulders, while their 
wearer plays lady’s - maid. Barbara is white and 
nervous, and as nearly fretful as it is possible for 
so patient a body to be. 

“Just think ! I had hoped to walk, yesterday,” 
she says, gazing at her swathed foot. 

“ Wouldn’t you like to try now? ” asks Jean, 
with some eagerness. “You know I am very 
strong. I would not let you hurt yourself ” 

“No, thank you ; I would rather wait for Dr. 
Dart. He will come to-day, of course.” 

“All is, if he doesn’t, it will be for some good 
reason,” says Ruth, with a furtive look at Jean ; 
“ and if he doesn’t come, we have only to send 
for Dr. Fanning.” 

“ Who is that ? ” asks Barbara, sharply. 

“The old doctor at the village. He uses snuff, 
and is very deaf *, but he has had ever so much eX' 


320 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


yj 


perience, you know,” responds Kuth, comfort- 
ingly. 

“I won’t have him ! ” declares the invalid. “ I 
suppose Jean would prefer him. She has always 
hurt Dr. Dart’s feelings all she could, on the score 
of his inexperience ; but I did think he would tak^ 
care of me through it all, for he knew I appreciated 
his kindness. Oh, Jean ! ” catching sight of her 
friend’s face, “forgive me for being so cross. Oh, 
what a trouble I have been, and am, to you ; ” and 
for an ending to this speech, Barbara breaks down 
and cries quietly. 

Jean stands still and regards her a moment; 
then, with a sob, she sinks into a chair, leans her 
bare arms on a table, and bowing her head upon 
them, sheds the tears that have been pressing for 
an outlet since yesterday morning. 

At this sight, unprecedented in their little his- 
tory, Barbara cries the harder, and Ruth looks in 
dismay from one to the other. 

“How perfectly horrid ! ” she thinks, balancing 
the feather duster on one finger. “ I despise being 
a conspirator.” 

For, perhaps, five minutes, the storm rages ; 
then Barbara, in her shame and remorse, actually 


THE CRISIS. 


321 


rises from her sofa, and, holding out her hand to 
Euth, with her assistance, hobbles across to her 
weeping friend. 

‘‘Do forgive me, Jean, or I shall be ashamed 
ever to look you in the face again. To think that 
I should make you cry ! It seems too dreadful to 
believe ! ” 

There is an ominous tremble in Barbara’s voice, 
and Jean does look up, wiping her eyes as she 
does so. 

“I have nothing to forgive, B., especially since 
you have walked way over here, for that makes me 
feel that we can get the foot well soon, without the 
"^^sistance of a doctor.” 

“Oh, no ; he will come to-day, I’m sure,” re- 
turns Barbara, as her two friends — one on each 
side — help her back to the sofa. “ Girls, I would 
not wish my worst enemy a sprained ankle. You 
do n’t know how strange and painful it feels, to let 
the blood run into it so. If Dr. Dart were only 
here to tell me that it is all right for me to use it, 
when it feels this way ! ” and Barbara sinks back 
exhausted, while the shower does not seem to have 
been entirely successful in clearing the atmos- 
phere. 


V 


322 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

Ruth feels a restraint and consciousness that 
make the prospect of companionship with her two 
friends, during the morning, uncomfortable ; so, 
as soon as opportunity presents itself, she goes 
away to her room. The first thing she does upon 
entering, is to lock her door ; the second, to release 
her prisoner from the closet. 

‘‘Come and take a little exercise,” she says ; 
but with characteristic obstinacy, the animal shows 
no sign of life. 

“ I know what will enliven you. You want a 
swim ; ” and Ruth moves to the wash - stand, and, 
half filling the basin with water, places it on the 
floor. 

“ Rather close quarters, is n’t it ? but this is the 
last day.” 

At the first touch of water, the turtle swims 
about, sidewise, clawing the slippery sides of the 
bowl, with a steady, hopeless motion. 

“What kind of a peacemaker will you be, I 
wonder?” muses the girl, half aloud. “If I can 
only get you in there just at the right time, you 
will be sure to produce an efiect. Afternoon will 
come, and Dr. Fanning with it, if every thing 
prospers ; and when he has gone, and every one 


THE CRISIS. 


323 


has given Dr. Dart up, and Jean is feeling bowed 
down with weight of woe, our gentleman will walk 
in upon the scene, see Barbara and have a talk 
with Jean, that will set matters straight ; for she 
will be so relieved to see him, that she will be very 
handsome about her note — perhaps apologize — 
I do n’t know about that, though ; ” and Ruth 
shakes her head very doubtfully. “ Then if I can 
make you walk in upon them, carrying that history 
on your back, it will make a laugh and restore 
their good nature ; but, I dare say, you ’ll behave 
badly and make trouble enough about entering, 
when you ’re wanted. Very well ; then I shaR 
carry you ; ” and Ruth lifts the turtle out of the 
bowl, and nodding in a very decided manner, 
restores it to durance vile. 

The morning drags its slow length along, and 
dinner is over. Jean can hardly be said to be in a 
state of expectancy, there is so little hope in her 
heart that the doctor will come ; yet, she listens 
attentively when Barbara asks Mrs. Erwin her 
opinion on the subject of his absence. 

Mrs. Erwin assumes an air of delicate injury. 

“I can hardly tell, my dear,” (it is so easy to 
bill Barbara “dear,”) “but you know he has 


324 


“no gentlemen.” 

already neglected his affairs in the city consider- 
ably, for your sake.” 

“I am not insensible to it,” says Barbara, 
earnestly. 

“And a telegram may have called him away 
suddenly. Nothing more likely, in fact, could be 
thought of. I hardly see why you need look so 
scornful. Miss Ivo’y?” turning suddenly upon Jean. 
“ Do you not believe that explanation ? ” 

“No.” 

“And yet it would be wonderful if I could 
not understand his actions more clearly than 
you.” 

For reply, Jean only does something “ mean 
with her eyebrows.” Her manner is very irritat- 
ing, and Ruth sees it. 

“Jean is not sufficiently humble, even yet,” she 
thinks. “What an astonishing amount of disci- 
pline that girl needs ! ” 

“It is very unfortunate,” she says aloud. “I 
think Dr. Dart’s presence and encouragement were 
never so much needed as now, for Barbara has just 
learned to depend upon him, and has n’t yet ar- 
rived at the place where she can do without him ; ” 
then seeing that Jean colors. Miss Exeter smooths 


THE CRISIS. 


325 


her dress with the pleasing sensation of having 
performed her whole duty. 

Nettie Dart, seated on a little stool at Jean’s 
feet, looking up at her adoringly, evidently thinks 
none the worse of her ideal for having a slig^ht 
difference with Mrs. Erwin. She leans toward 
J ean and whispers : 

Do you know why I am longing to see Ken- 
neth, to-day ? ” 

Jean shakes her head. 

“To tell him how kind and good you are.” 

The older girl smiles ironically. “He knows 
already that I am the gentlest and sweetest of my 
sex,” she returns. 

It is an intensely warm noonday. Mabel and 
Polly are amusing themselves up-stairs. The more 
nearly interested sit in the warm parlor with Bar- 
bara. She needs their society more than common, 
and has evidently to exercise strong self - control, 
not to break out into impatient movements and 
speeches. Conversation languishes under the beat- 
ing rays of the sun. Mrs. Erwin, in a big chair, 
leans back and falls into a light slumber. Euth 
rocks back and forth in a rocking-chair, wondering 
^vhy she should be so excited by the carrying out 


326 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

of her mild little plot. Nettie picks up a book, 
and, seating herself by Barbara’s side, begins to 
read aloud, while Jean, in a straight, unreposeful 
attitude, sits with clasped hands, looks out of the 
window and waits. There is nothing to see but 
the glowing air and parching grass. She never 
forgets the hour she spends thus, waiting for the 
doctor's visit this afternoon in August, and her ex- 
terior gives little idea of the turmoil in her mind. 
Alternately, the time drags and flies. One min- 
ute, the dread of meeting him sends a hot flush 
over her; the next, the cold conviction that the 
Red Farm will see him no more, causes the heavy 
moments to drag monotonously by. She has 
plenty of time to think over the little past of two 
Summer months ; and, twist the events, trifling in 
themselves, but great to her, which way she will, 
she can not contrive to see them in a light favor- 
able to Miss Ivory. Every one of her little re- 
marks and innuendoes, inimical to the handsome, 
unprofessional - looking physician, insists upon l)e 
ing remembered at this uncomfortable time ; and 
the recollection of some of them makes Jean blush 
for herself. Dr. Dart has always taken his revenge 
in being amused by them, and showing it involuu 


THE CRISIS. 


327 


tarily, until the last — that was too much. No 
wonder he prefers waiting until a future day to 
continue showing his interest in Barbara — a day 
when no officious intimate will annoy him by her 
impertinence. 

With hands tightly folded, Jean gives herself a 
severe mental castigation, which ends in a desper- 
ate desire to see the man, all of whose faults are 
cast in shadow beside hers, whose good opinion it 
has taken her long, hard work to lose, and which 
she feels at this moment it would be worth any 
sacrifice to regain. 

She is filled with so strong a longing that, if 
there is any thing in the doctrine of magnetism, it 
seems to the excited girl that it must bring to her 
this lost friend. Her brown eyes grow black as 
she sees a phaeton turn into the gap in the stone 
wall. She does not warn her companions of the 
physician’s arrival, only sits battling the tempta- 
tion to run away, which has followed her quickly 
granted desire. 

The phaeton draws up before the piazza, and 
out steps the slight, bent figure of old Dr. Fanning. 

For one moment, Jean’s disappointment is 
bitter ; but at the next, she rises, determined at 


328 “ NO GENTLEMEN.” 

last to take matters into her own hands, and, hex 
face, as she crosses to Barbara’s lounge, is lighted 
with a new resolve ; but before she can speak. Dr. 
Fanning has entered the room. Jean hears vague^ 
ly that he hopes Dr. Dart may be able to resume 
his place, sooner or later ; then checks the dismay 
in Barbara’s face by four words which she whis^ 
pers, under pretense of kissing her, and, with a 
courteous bow to the old gentleman, she passes out 
and away, up-stairs. 

She is conscious of a strange sensation of relief. 
It is as if she had been tossed from a stormy sea 
into a safe, pleasant harbor, where all is rest and 
quiet. All the conflict between pride and inclina- 
tion is at an end. 

She smiles at her faintly-tinted, radiant reflec- 
tion in the mirror, as she realizes with an odd sat- 
isfaction how rude and inexcusable her conduct has 
been. There is no half-way possible to handsome, 
impulsive Jean, and as she hurries into her riding- 
habit, she is busily making the worst of all the 
injuries she ever bestowed upon Kenneth Dart, by 
way of making the certainty that she can compen- 
sate him for them, the sweeter. 

‘“Be virtuous, and you will be happy ! ’ What 


THE CRISIS. 


329 


nonsense,” she thinks, with a little, scornful smile. 
“I was never so happy in my life as I am now, 
just because I have done so very wrong ; ” then, 
with sudden demureness : “It is for Barbara that 
I am going,” she thinks. “I have as much as 
stolen from her, and it is my duty” — “your 
pleasant duty,” suggests some mocking inner voice 
— “my duty to make her loss good,” continues 
Jean, stoutly. 

It has seemed so long, long a time, that she has 
been obliged to steel herself against every advance 
made by the young doctor, that now it is a pos- 
itive relief to be about to make one herself. 


U* 


830 


♦ “no gentlemen.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 

Leaves and joyous birds went by her, 

Like a dim, half - waking dream ; 

And her soul was only conscious 
Of life’s gladdest Summer gleam. 

— Aj^onymous. 

Meanwhile, Ruth is in her own room, bustling 
about in a little flutter of excitement. She has come 
away from the sight of Barbara’s disappointed 
face, and is a trifle ashamed of her own cowardice. 

“I suppose I might have stayed and tried to 
keep her spirits up,” she thinks ; “ but, no matter. 
‘ He who fights and runs away, lives to fight an- 
other day ; ’ ” and, with this consoling reflection, 
she opens her closet door and looks in on her 
captive, who is taking a lively constitutional up 
and down the floor. 

“Oh, yes; you are brisk enough now,” she 
says. “ How will it be when I want you to show 
a little life I ” 

^cs sfie speaks, the sound of Jean’s door, closing 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


331 


with a slam, brings Ruth to hers. What is her 
surprise to see a jaunty riding -hat, which she 
knows well, disappearing down the stairs. In a 
moment she is following, and joins Jean at the 
hall door. 

“ ‘ Where are you going, my pretty maid,’ and 
why do you look so beaming ? Have you found 
some one who will accept the whole of your for- 
tune this time ? ” 

Jean blushes to the roots of her hair, but she 
turns her happy face to her friend : 

“lam going for a doctor.” 

“How many do you want? There ’s one here 
already.” 

“But I’m going for the doctor,” rejoins Jean, 

gayiy- 

Ruth looks a little blank. She has not bar- 
gained for this. She wishes the metaphorical pipe 
of peace to be smoked by her proteges in her im- 
mediate neighborhood. 

“ Won’t he think it a little strange ? ” she ven- 
tures. “ Why do n’t you send Jabe ? ” 

“Because,” says Jean, solemnly, “it is the 
least I can do, tc go myself, Ruth. Dr. Dart would 
be quite right not to come at the bidding of a 


332 * ‘‘NO GENTLEMEN.” 

servant, after all that has passed. He knows Bar* 
bara does not positively need him, and it serves me 
right to be obliged to go to him and ask a favor. 

“ Oh ! ” exclaims Ruth, much impressed, “ you 
— you do n’t seem to mind it much, Jean ! ” 

“I have no right to consider my own feelings 
in the matter at all,” returns Jean, superbly. 

Ruth stands within the door, watching her 
friend as she buttons her gloves while waiting for 
Firefly. Her eyes are round with wonder, yet she 
knows it is but an oft-repeated experience that she 
should set a ball rolling, and that Jean should 
whisk it along in her own strong-willed way, often- 
times in an entirely difierent direction from the 
one intended by herself. 

As she stands there cogitating, she hears a 
sound which is happily inaudible to Jean, standing 
without, on the piazza. The sound is of some- 
thing softly bump — bump — bumping at inter- 
vals, as of a ball rolling slowly down a flight of 
stairs. Ruth’s face flushes, and, turning quickly, 
she runs half way up and meets her captive, who 
makes a sharp turn, just escaping a fall from be- 
tween the banisters. 

“Of all the ungoverned creatures that I ever 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


333 


saw ! ” she ejaculates, under her breath. “ How I 
do feel for Mr. Barnum ! One more animal would 
be the death of me,” and with this, she swoops 
upon the unhappy turtle and slips it into her 
pocket. 

The action gives her an idea, a forlorn hope, a 
desperate hope that she may yet utilize the trials 
she has endured with her prize, since the day — a 
week or so ago — when she beheld him sunning 
himself in fancied security on a rock by the brook- 
side. How carefully she stole up behind, like the 
famous turkey gobbler, and snapped him off his 
resting-place. 

“And now I am determined that you shall per- 
form some use beside purifying me through suffer- 
ing,” thinks Kuth, as she runs down the stairs. 

Jabe has brought Firefly, and Jean mounts. 
Ruth goes out and stands beside her, arranging 
the skirt of her friend’s habit in graceful folds. 

Jean leans forward, turns her head away, and 
endeavors to peer beneath the shade of one of the 
parlor windows, in order to nod a good-bye to Bar- 
bara. 

As she does so, she feels a sudden jerk on her 
skirt, and looks back. 


834 


“NO GENTLEMEN. 


“Now you’ll do,” says Ruth, very red- faced, 
smoothing and pulling the habit. 

“ Good bye, then,” says Jean, touching Firefly 
with the whip. 

Ruth looks after her as she rides down the road. 

“I did it,” she thinks with satisfaction. “I 
only hope she won’t feel in her pocket for her 
handkerchief before she gets there. Mr. ‘July 
2nd ’ is so discouraged by adversity, that he won’t 
stir for a long time, unless she does. Well, I must 
leave the future to destiny. I ’m sure I ’ve been 
through enough with Jean and her silly quarrels. 
How glad Dr. Dart will be to see her ! ” and then 
Ruth leans against a slender pillar, and allows her 
imagination to conjure up a series of scenes lead- 
ing to Dr. Dart’s mild and decorous love - making, 
which is to commence, according to Ruth’s most 
sanguine fancy, about the time Barbara is well, 
and after the party shall have returned to the city ; 
while in the dim, golden perspective, the vision of 
that bridesmaid’s dress floats supreme. Ruth 
wiaits on the piazza just long enough to alter its 
laces from pointe duchesse to Valenciennes ; then 
she goes in the house to see how Barbara is endur- 
ing Dr. Fanning 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


335 


Meanwhile, Jean rides on. The day has ad* 
ranced into a degree of coolness, but she does not 
notice it. She is in too strange a mood to know 
heat from cold. The swift motion of her horse 
pleases her. He carries her along at a pace in 
keeping with the exaltation which possesses her — 
a strange exhilaration, as if some delightful, new 
pleasure were about to become hers. All the 
pleasant things of her life seem present with her ; 
all the unpleasant, to fade into trifles. She is go- 
ing to Kenneth Dart with no appearance of enmity 
to keep up. She is going to make her peace with 
him. He will look grave and hurt at first, but she 
will know what to say. He will forgive her, and 
— and — oh, yes ; he will return with her to Bar- 
bara. Jean realizes that she has come near to for- 
getting Barbara, and still, before the sweet, patient 
countenance of her friend, which she recalls with 
a little remorseful qualm, will rise a strong head 
and face, with deep gray eyes that are laughing at 
her, and mouth that is loving hej*. Jean knows 
the look so well. She smiles unconsciously as she 
hurries Firefly over the dusty road. It never 
occurs to the rider that the object of her search 
may have left the village ; and it is still with the 


336 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

Bparkle and radiance in eye and cheek, that she 
reins her horse at Aunt Allen’s door, and, moving 
up the sunny garden path, knocks. 

‘‘Walk right in. Miss Ivory,” says Aunt Allen, 
opening the door, and beaming all over her fat 
face, at sight of her caller. 

“Thank you; I must not stop to make a call 
to-day. I would like to see the doctor, please.” 

“Pshaw, now! he’ll be sorry enough that he 
wa’ n’t in,” begins Aunt Allen. 

“ He is n’t in ? ” interrupts Jean, in a tone of 
polite incredulity. “ Then I will wait for him.” 

“I should admire to have you come in Miss 
Ivory ; but, not to deceive you, I do n’t believe 
he ’ll be cornin’ back. J seen him go out with 
some kind of a bundle in his hand, an’ ’t was borne 
in on me then that he was goin’ to the city. That’s 
his way, to go off without tellin’ me. How pale 
an’ tired you look. Is Miss Waite very bad ? You 
might call at Dr. Fanning’s afore you go home.” 

“No, Miss Waite is not very ill. The heat has 
been so intense* to-day, and I have been riding fast. 
I will take a glass of water, if you please,” re- 
plies Jean, with a forced smile. 

It is vain for her to comfort herself with the re- 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


337 


membntnce that Boston is very near ; that a daj 
or two can make no difference. In her over* 
wrought state, it would hardly have seemed direr 
to hear that Dr. Dart had sailed for Europe. 

She drinks the water, and goes back down the 
path. The face of nature has changed to her. 
She thought the garden gay and comical when 
she passed through it a few minutes ago ; nowj 
the sun -flowers hurt her eyes. She has no pa- 
tience with the bees buzzing in the thick -veined 
hollyhocks, and the marigolds look like flowers cut 
from yellow paper. 

“We were behind time. Firefly,” she says, un- 
tying the horse ; then she mounts and rides away. 

She knows the Pineland roads well, and leaves 
the dusty thoroughfare as soon as possible, for a 
green, shady path. 

“It is longer, but you are hot and tired, poor 
old fellow, and there is plenty of time now,” she 
murmurs, with a decided quiver of the lips, at the 
last. 

“It is all very absurd, this deep disappoint* 
ment,” she tells herself; but a consciousness of 
the absurdity of the position dees not seem to help 

matters much. 

W 15 


338 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

The Summer stillness of the woods is lonely in* 
stead of comforting. Jean wishes it were not the 
birds’ vacation. The song of a thrush, or cat- 
bird, would be the best companionship she could 
have, and help to heal the wound just made in her 
pride. 

“For of course I could not feel so stricken, but 
through my pride,” she thinks. “Perhaps the 
sooner I stop trying to heal the sorrows of Mr. 
Kenneth Dart, either of poverty or sensibility, the 
better off I shall be.” 

Whether or no this half-spoken sarcasm appeals 
particularly to Mr. “July 2nd,” certain it is that 
at this moment Ruth’s missionary gathers courage 
to bestir himself ; and Jean is suddenly conscious 
of a vigorous, mysterious and altogether - frightful 
scratching and pulling, somewhere beneath her 
habit. 

She has swift and unpleasant visions of lizards, 
tarantulas and other forest favorites, and involun- 
tarily screams outright. Firefly starts, and a 
crackling through the bushes near by announces 
help. 

“Oh, Jabe, it ’s you. (Whoa, Firefly.) There 
Is something on me I It frightens me dreadfully I ” 


IN TOKTOISE- SHELL. 


339 


she exclaims, shrinking away as she looks down at 
one spot in her habit which is heaving and falling 
unaccountably. 

Jabe runs to her side — his grin gone tempora- 
rily. 

“ I feel faint. I do n’t dare to see what it is I ” 
eays Jean, growing paler. 

The boy touches the agitated spot. 

‘‘Why, that’s yer pocket, ain’t it?” he asks, 
and unceremoniously diving his hand within, 
draws forth the black and gold emissary, who is 
quiet enough now. 

“Well, I would n’t ha’ believed it, ef I had n’t 
ha’ seen it,” asserts Jabe. “How on airth cmild 
a tortle climb into yer pocket ? It ’s got readin’ 
onto it tew,” he continues, making a close and 
cross-eyed survey of the shelf 

Jean sees through the mystery at once. She 
remembers Ruth’s delicate attentions at starting, 
and the jerk at her habit. Her cheeks redden in 
the reaction from her fright, and her eyes dance. 

“ It is strange, Jabe. It must be a fairy in dis- 
guise.” 

Jabe drops the prize as though it had suddenly 
grown red-hot. 


340 


“NO GENTLEMEN.’ 


“Pick it up, you bad boy,” orders Jean, with a 
little excited laugh. “I hope you haven’t hurt 
it.” 

Jabe obeys, holding the shell with a gingerly 
touch. 

“I’ve hearn tell these woods is full o’ fairies,” 
he says with some trepidation. 

“Of course,” returns Jean, with a majestic 
gesture, “I ’m one myself.” 

Jabe looks up, grinning at the joke. It is a 
wonderful condescension for Miss Ivory to ex- 
change so many words with him. 

“Is that so ? ” he chuckles. “ I ’ll tell Dr. Dart 
haow ’t I met a fairy in the woods. He ’s some- 
w’er’s raound here naow, goin’ fishin’.” 

Then he is not out of reach ! Jean’s heart 
gives a glad bound. 

‘‘tes, I can tell you what is marked on that 
turtle’s shell, without looking at it,” she con- 
tinues. 

“All right! go ahead,” returns the boy, with 
interest. 

“ ‘July 2nd,’ ” says the girl, in a low tone. 

“So fur, so good,” returns Jabe. “What 
else ? ” 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


341 


“ What else ? Nothing else,” cries Jean, 
hastily. 

‘‘Oh, what fer a one -boss fairy air yew?” 
chuckles Jabe, executing a derisive double - shuffle. 

“Why, tell me quickly, what else does it 
say ? ” 

Jabe cocks his head on one side. 

“ ‘Yours — trewly,’ ” he reads laboriously. 

Jean’s great brown eyes regard the innocent 
shell in a kind of terror, lest further tell - tale in- 
scriptions should burst forth upon it. But imme- 
diately she realizes that this, too, is Ruth’s work. 
The brightness dies out of her face. 

“That is an evil, taunting fairy, if it is one at 
all,” she says, half addressing the boy. 

“ W’y, ’twon’t hurt ye,” he returns, consolingly; 
“thet kind don’t bite. Snappers is the very Old 
Scratch, but these here speckled ones is jest ez 
innercent ez chickens.” 

“Oh, I’m not afraid, Jabe,” replies Jean, 
with a half smile; “but ‘Yours truly’ isn’t 
true now, and — I wish it were — that’s the 
trouble,” and down goes the burning face into her 
hands. 

“Naow don’t. Miss Avery,” responds Jabe, 


342 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

much disturbed, suddenly catching sight of some 
object beyond the bowed figure; “it’s yourn ef 
ye want it. I guess ther’ amt nothin’ raound here 
but what yew kin hev, ef ” 

Jean has not seen the figure that stepped sud- 
denly from behind her, with an imperative motion 
of the hand that sent Jabe running and jumping 
toward the river. 

Kenneth Dart draws near, half doubting, 
wholly eager. 

“Look at me,” he implores. “Do you — can 
you wish it true ? Is it possible that you do not 
hate — that you — love me, Jean?” For slowly 
the white hands have come down, and the deep, 
soft eyes that meet his fervent gaze hold for 
Kenneth Dart a wondrous revelation. 

Jean’s whole exquisite figure droops toward 
her lover. 

“Forgive me,” she murmurs, with her hand in 
his, and a faint smile on her lips. “ I came pur- 
posely to ask you.” 

“ And to make me happy forever ! ” 

“And to make you happy forever,” echoes 
bountiful Jean. 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


343 


Late in the afternoon, Ruth stands at the parlor 
window, drumming on the pane. 

“Here comes your doctor, Barbara,” she re- 
marks coolly, as Jean rides slowly up the road, 
with Kenneth Dart walking by her side. 

“ I shall be so glad to see him,” says Barbara. 
“Jean is the kindest friend that ever lived.” 

Mrs. Erwin hurries to the window, and looks 
out. 

“What an absurd way to come from town — 
walking by that horse,” she says. 

“Perhaps it is Jean, not Firefly, that Dr. Dart 
is walking beside,” suggests Ruth. 

“Well, it’s a strange thing,” says the widow, 
her slow color rising as a suspicion crosses her 
mind — a suspicion that is verified when, a few 
minutes later, her hand is grasped in that of her 
dear friend, with a pressure that causes her to cry 
out. 

Inez ! ” is all he says as he wrings her hand, 
all unconscious of the pangs, mental and physical, 
that he is inflicting. 

“I’m sure I’m ve’y glad for you, Kenneth,” 
says the widow, tremulously ; and the time comes 
when she is. 


344 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

In a quiet corner of the back parlor, Jean and 
Euth stand alone. 

“I can not believe it, even of you, Jean,” says 
Euth. “Why, what are you thinking of ? ” 

“Just at this minute — of Barbara and Nettie. 
From this moment, B. is Nettie’s governess ! Do 
you see all the beauty of the arrangement ? ” asks 
Jean, warming, glad to turn the conversation from 
herself. “ Boarding school is no place for Nettie, 
and, under Mousie’s influence, what may she not 
become ? ” 

“Yes, I see,” says Euth; “and henceforth 
there is to be little work and plenty of money 
for Barbara. That is all very well ; but, Jean, 
what do you mean — you headlong girl — by go- 
ing to such extremes ! ” 

Jean’s eyes shine. “Euth, Emerson says: 
‘ With consistency a great soul has simply nothing 
to do.’” 

Euth sinks into a chair and looks up at her 
friend. 

“If the opinion of any one but Mr. Emerson is 
valuable, may I ask what you are calculating that 
your mother will say to this ? ” she asks resign- 
edly. 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


345 


‘‘ She will say that it is of a piece with the rest 
of my impulsive behavior,” replies Jean. 

“And,” adds Ruth, “that she hopes Dr. Dart 
will take more care of your money than you ever 
did. What will your father say ? ” 

“That he always knew I could be trusted,” 
responds Jean, proudly, glancing across at Ken- 
neth, who is striving bravely to bring his mind 
down to Barbara’s ankle. 

“ I do believe he will,” remarks Ruth, absently ; 
for the needle is no truer to the pole, than are her 
thoughts to the heart - shaped waist of that blue - 
tinted gown. Then, giving her friend a sudden 
squeeze, 

“Dear old Jean ! did n’t you fall easily into the 
trap we set for you ? ” she asks. 

“You double-faced girl!” exclaims Jean, 
laughing back into Ruth’s twinkling eyes. “I 
have been hearing about it, and see through all 
your performances at last.” 

“Oh, I’ve a profession now,” says Ruth, with 
a serious nod ; “I’ve found my niche in life. I 
am going to look up despairing lovers, and help 
them out of their troubles ; then, when the course 
of true love runs smooth and business is dull, I can 


346 


“NO GENTLEMEN.” 

assist in a menagerie. And now, Jean, in consid- 
eration of all I ’ve done for you ” 

“ Done for me ! Frightened me almost to death 
with that poor turtle ! ” 

“Poor turtle?” Ruth rolls up her eyes elo- 
quently. “If you have any superfluous sympathy, 
you can expend it on me. Have you ever roomed 
with that literary amphibian ? ” 

“ No ; but I ’ve lodged it,” laughs Jean. 

Ruth motions her away. 

“ Do n’t imagine that your sufferings compare 
in any way with what I have endured. I under- 
stand that creature’s character, and it has n’t any 
at all ; neither has it any mental balance, or self- 
control of any kind ; but never mind ; I will not 
twit you with all you owe me, for I shall take my 
pay in being first bridesmaid, and Barbara, Mabel 
and Polly can ‘ fall in,’ as they say in the Lancers. 
Can ’t you, girls ? ” as Mabel and Polly approach. 
“By the way, speaking of Lancers, what is the 
use of your coming out this Winter, Jean, when 
you ’ll have to go in so soon ? ” finishes Ruth, with 
raised eyebrows. 

“I do not intend to go in,” replies Jean. “I 
am going to give parties for you butterflies of 


IN TORTOISE-SHELL. 


347 


fashion, and chaperone you to those of other 
people.” 

“ Oh, Jean ! that will be lovely,” assents Polly, 
while Mabel, descrying Miss Bounce coming up 
the drive, hurries out to meet her. 

Miss Hopeful has just returned from the 
funeral of her unfortunate brother-in-law, and 
all Miss Ivory’s perfections are present in her 
mind when Mabel swoops upon her with the 
news. 

“For — ever ! ” she ejaculates, holding up both 
her hands ; then, in silent amazement, she follows 
Mabel into the parlor. 

“Miss Avery,” she says, advancing in all the 
dignity of her chip bonnet, and taking Jean’s 
hand, while the beautiful girl looks down kindly 
upon her, “I should a little druther you hadn’t 
married a man, for it ’s apt to turn out resky ; but 
you ’ve got the only one I could place a mite o’ 
reliance on. That there spinnin’-wheel is yourn 
from this moment ; ” then, as she looks across and 
catches sight of the beatified face bending over 
Barbara’s bandages, she nods her head with in- 
creased confidence: “I’m sure — I feel surer ’n 
ever, that they don’t make ’em like him very 


V ■ i . , A // 

j j ^ ■' X 

348 “NO GENTLEMEN.” ~ 

often. I believe, Miss Avery, dear, that I darst 
to — congratulate you ! ” 

“To be sure,” cries Euth, with swimming 
eyes, “I forgot that. Jean, dearest, I congrat- 
ulate you.” 

THE END. 

~ ^ jr ■_' 

^ V ^ ^ 

— 




: "iSf 

■ 'h - 

■ ■■ 

:4 

■ 














